


Red, White & Those Other Colors

by coveryourheads (rsk110)



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bucky is James Barnes Grandson, Cats, James "Bucky" Barnes No Power, Loosely follows movie plots, M/M, No Winter Soldier, References to Depression, Steve Rogers Angst, Stucky Big Bang 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 08:23:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11870400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rsk110/pseuds/coveryourheads
Summary: Steve Rogers wakes up from the ice to a world where he has nothing left.He meets Bucky, his best friend James Barnes' grandson, who is an agent of SHIELD.[His cats are perched on the bench, watching the night sky. The volume is low but he can hear Steve’s laughter, filming the fascinated cats and the fantastic display in the air above. Lights burst in the black sky, in splashes of various flares, in red, white, and other colors. Awe aspiring and patriotic, loud, but so calming and majestic. It fills him with satisfaction as big as the sky, in those flowing and falling colors.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Beautiful Artwork!](http://thisfanisonfire.tumblr.com/post/164309215273/art-pieces-for-the-fic-red-white-those-other) \- Please go check it out! Cats!!
> 
> And a BIG HUGE THANK YOU!! to beta - Maaike - I don't think I would have finished the first chapter without your encouragements, that this idea doesn't suck as much as I thought. <3

Steve Rogers’ rational half says the water is hot against his back, but he just can't seem to feel it. His stomach churns and he doubles over in the shower, hand slapping against the smooth tiles. Goosebumps rise all over his body and he feels the cold, the chill that invaded the broken hull and curling in on himself on the floor, ready to die. The other hand wraps over his mouth. His eyes squeeze shut. Faces flash behind them.

Mama.

Peggy.

James. 

Abraham.

The Commandos. Colonel Phillips.

The Red Skull. 

_James_.

The nausea thankfully fades back and he straightens up, leaning back against the cool tiles. His fingers brush back the wet hair plastered over his face. He isn’t sure how long he’s been letting the water go to waste, but it’s still warm despite the length of time he’s spent under the shower spray, trying to get those screaming memories fade out of his head. He can’t remember the last time he had a hot bath, maybe before the war, in the apartment he’d shared with James. Maybe he’d been sick and James had to boil water three times in the largest pot they had to fill the tub, mixing in cool water to set the best temperature. Steve can still see his skinny knobby knees poking out of the water’s surface as James sat next to the tub to make sure the water didn’t get too cool for Steve. James had smiled pleasantly, talking about his day at his new job, building some parts that went into warships. James had kept re-soaking the compress on his head with warmer water. When they’d both run out of things to say, James’ one hand as wrinkly as Steve had been, Steve had asked for the big towel, rising out of the water. And James…

James’ knuckles had followed the line of Steve’s thin, shivering arm. Steve had been so still. And James had said, _‘I joined up, Steve. I’ll be leaving for basic training soon.’_

The sick feeling subsides completely, after concentrating so much on his friend. Steve lets the water run down over his head, his back and then the front to quickly rinse off any residual soap suds and turns the faucet off. Water swirls down the drain as Steve stares down at his feet.

He does not understand.

“I should be dead,” Steve murmurs to his feet.

The large towels are fluffy and smell clean. The agents have dropped him off at this pristine apartment. Everything is white. The only colors Steve can find are inside the rectangle frames of the windows. None of them open but Steve guesses he can break the glass if he wants to. But even _he_ wouldn’t survive the drop. He can see the tops of most of the buildings around. Manhattan is so different from how he remembers it, more greys, more noise. Steve picks out a white button-down shirt, crisp and ironed the way he would have, and off-white trousers that fit more snugly than he would like.

Steve sits on the white sofa in the living room, staring down at the glass topped table. There is a rectangular book-sized plastic and glass thing on it. One of the agents had called it a ‘tablet’ and told him anything he needs is on there. Steve had poked at it, curiously, the first morning after waking up from a nightmare, a world seventy years later than he’s supposed to be in. It had flashed on and spoken in a strange female voice and so Steve had let it be. Not even in science fiction stories, Steve had seen or read about machines that just switched on and spoke directly to him. Now Steve touches it again, bringing the screen to life.

“Good morning Captain Rogers, how may I be of service to you?” The tablet voice asks.

Steve stares down at the blank screen.

“Hi?” He says timidly.

“Hello, Captain Rogers.”

Steve picks up the tablet and wonders on what to do with it. It lights up, revealing a grey background and illuminated squares with words beneath them. One of them says SHIELD underneath a logo of a stylized black bird.

“I don’t know what to do with this.” Steve murmurs.

The tablet speaks. “I am JOCASTA. I am an artificial intelligence program developed by Mr. Tony Stark. I will assist you in using the Stark Operating System.”

“Stark?”

The tablet brings up a square that begins to play a video. Steve stares at it.

“SHIELD Director Nicholas Fury thought it would be a good idea to show you some clips of what has happened in the time you have been asleep, Captain Rogers. I will play a series of videos for you that will explain what has happened after the Valkyrie crashed, for the duration of the Second World War.”

The video plays and JOCASTA explains a series of important battles, how the war has ended and what happened to the countries fighting in them. Steve feels his guts constrict at the terrible images and the bombings on the Asian front.

“Please stop.”

The video pauses and blacks out.

“I don’t think I’m ready for this.”

“Perhaps you would be more interested in the history of Mr. Stark, Captain Rogers?”

“Yes. Yeah. That sounds good.”

Steve leans back into the couch and holds the tablet over his stomach. He watches what he thinks is a documentary about Howard Stark. Steve is fascinated about the things Howard had been able to do, and horrified by the kinds of weapons Stark Industries have begun to create.

“Tony Stark is Howard’s son?”

The video stops. “There is a documentary produced two years ago on Mr. Tony Stark. Would you like to view this?”

“Yes.”

The words ‘Accessing Archives’ flash over the screen and plays a new video. This one is less fuzzy than the one on Howard. Tony looks like him, Steve muses as he learns about the genius son. Steve wonders if he’d lived, he might have met Tony as a child, watched him grow up. Steve thinks maybe he would have married, had a child of his own, who would have played with Tony. The second half of the video is titled ‘Birth of Iron Man’. It greatly interests Steve to learn about the invention Tony Stark has created. A suit, a weapon, that would change the course of mankind… Steve is terrified by the descriptions of Tony’s kidnapping, of the consequent violence that has happened to him and the people around him, about ‘Iron Man’ fighting and defending the people.

The video ends with explosions in New York City, Iron Man saving the day and rolling credits.

Steve puts the tablet down to walk into the kitchen. He finds a clean glass and pours cold tap water in. He drinks two full glasses. It doesn’t calm him down.

He returns to the couch, staring at the empty white wall across from him. The shadows have shifted and Steve feels tired.

“JOCASTA, can you show me how to find out about… people?”

The tablet lights up again when he picks it up. It goes through a series of explanations on where and how to search things for himself. Steve spends the rest of the evening, reading news articles and finding books he may want to read that can be bought and delivered to the apartment. He doesn’t know the address but apparently, JOCASTA does. The AI informs him the books can be delivered to him by the next morning.

“Whatever happened to James Barnes?”

It accesses archives and finds several books on Sergeant James Barnes of the Howling Commandos. Steve picks out several books written on the Howling Commandos and Captain America.

“There is a documentary on Sergeant James Barnes produced two years before he passed away. Would you like to view, Captain Rogers?”

A spinning arrow appears over the black square that plays video clips.

“No. Not tonight. Thank you.”

The spinning arrow disappears and the tablet screen returns to its grey glow.

“You are welcome, Captain Rogers. Would you like assistance with anything else?”

“No. I can’t think of anything else.”

“I will go into sleep mode to recharge. Good night, Captain Rogers.”

“Good night.”

Steve notes the time and the faint light shining in through the windows. The city streets below his feet glow in lights. He can see the tops of people, walking along down the sidewalks and moving inside vehicles. Maybe there is human interaction down there, but for Steve, maybe it’s not allowed. He doesn’t belong in this world, in this time, so all he can do is study it on little glowing screens, through glass covered rectangles. Steve leans his forehead on the glass with a great sigh. 

He should have died in the ice.

  

\---  

  

Steve sits straight as Nick Fury talks to him. Nick Fury talks about the history of SHIELD and how Peggy Carter made it possible for SSR to become SHIELD. It makes Steve angry. He doesn’t want to think about Peggy or how everyone went on with their lives, changed the things he’s known, how the world just… Changed so rapidly while he was frozen. No one could find him. Everyone assumed he was dead. They should have left him in the ice. Even when they found him, they should have kept him frozen in a tank in a museum or something. Not… This. Locked up inside this prison cell, apartment thing. No human interaction. A talking tablet to keep him company.

“Ms. Carter is still alive.”

It brings Steve back out. He tries to not be angry.

“Can I see her?”

“We haven’t told her yet. She’s an old woman. She’s in a nursing home.”

Steve sighs. If he can get headaches, he would be suffering a migraine right about now. He still rubs his temples with his fingertips.

“Is anyone else alive?”

Nick Fury pauses. Steve is thinking that he’s thinking about all the possible outcomes of telling Steve if anyone else he knows is still alive or dead.

“I know James… Sergeant Barnes passed away in ’92.”

Nick Fury’s brow raises for a second.

“I asked the tablet. Told me about James and played some documentaries about Howard.”

“Did you watch the adapted film they made about Howard Stark? It’s pretty good. Won best picture that year.”

Steve scoffs.

“Timothy Dugan and Gabe Jones are still alive.”

“Why… Why did you…”

Steve feels sick. He knows he’s not. It just feels like he’ll be sick.

Nick Fury stands and walks over to the window. He stands there, hands crossed behind his back. Steve waits.

“Ms. Carter and Howard Stark never gave up looking for you. They were still looking for you. Howard told his family that he would go fishing over the weekend but he was on that ship, in the frozen Atlantic, looking for you. Even until her last day at SHIELD, she made sure that we would not stop looking. We did, eventually, you know.”

Steve is thinking, that’s what you should have kept doing.

“It was an accident, finding the remains of the Valkyrie. A team of scientists studying diminishing icecaps were the ones who called it in. Then they found you. And here we are.”

“Yes. Here we are.”

Nick Fury doesn’t fidget. He looks down at the things moving around below them. The changing colors of the sky. The flickering lights. Steve suspects that everything this man does is deliberate. Every word he says. Calculating. Just hitting that particular spot to get you going. He’s a spy. Steve is just another soldier. An old soldier.

“I had the pleasure of meeting Sergeant Barnes just once. An event for World War II veterans in DC. I went up to him, introduced myself, and shook his hand. Thanked him for his services in the war. He was with his son and grandchildren. They must be grown up now.”

Steve’s heart hammers inside his chest.

“Did he have any other children? James?”

“No, just one son. And he had a son and a daughter.”

“Do you think maybe I could…”

“Just a little more time, Captain. You understand, this is a delicate matter. If the world finds out that you’re alive and—”

“Alright. I got it.”

Steve winces internally at the clipped childhood accent on his tongue. Steve vaguely wonders about Brooklyn, the apartment he and Ma used to live in, the smaller one he’d lived in with James until he went off to war, and the street with the shop that held the secret SSR lab where he’d become… Captain America.

“I want to go out.”

“This is not a prison.”

“But you don’t want me to get out.”

“We’ll have to assign a few agents.”

Nick Fury leaves not too long after. Steve is alone in the white apartment again.

“JOCASTA?”

“How may I be of service, Captain Rogers?”

“Show me everything you got on James?”

The screen blinks ‘Accessing Archives’ for a few seconds and a range of articles, books and videos are listed for Steve. Steve taps the documentary and sits back into the couch to watch. It starts with a black and white photograph of Steve and James taken during the War, before one of many missions. Steve’s eyes water just at the sight of his best friend, who won the War, who went home, lived a life and died without Steve. 

 

\--- 

 

The alarm rings obtrusively as Bucky Barnes flails around for the phone. He punches at the bright screen with his index finger until it stops. He blissfully buries his face into his pillow until he hears his phone again. It’s the most ominous ringtone in the library of basic ringtones because no matter what he’s tries, he still can’t get songs to be ringtones in the newly issued SHIELD phones. He curses Tony Stark because ever since they sort of recruited the billionaire in one of the many programs SHIELD designs to prevent disasters, he’s been throwing new tech at them. Stark phones are nice but no one knows how to use them other than the basic call function and the ‘encrypted’ texting, and people keep sitting on them and breaking them. Bucky suspects that Stark is using all of them in some kind of data collection and field testing. He misses those phones with actual keyboards that takes minutes to download a single email. At least he had a really cool song designated for each person on his contacts list.

“Hey Nat…”

“Did I wake you?”

“Thought you were in Russia?”

“I am. I… was.”

Bucky can hear Nat’s smirk at that one.

“Nat. Long week. Need sleep.”

“I’m on my way back. Got a new assignment.”

“Sleep. Need.”

“Heard you were in… Canada? What were you doing in Canada?”

“It’s classified.”

“Uh huh.”

Bucky rises out of bed and yawns loudly into his phone only because he knows Nat hates that.

“I  _am_  on the Barton thing. Yes.”

He yawns again to emphasize his point. Loki is an annoying adversary and Bucky wants to punch him in the nuts for what he did to a SHIELD Research Facility. And to his fellow agents. And to his sleep schedule. He had put in for a vacation, too, after the Canada mission to spend with Becca and her new baby. 

And he can feel Nat’s eyebrow rise that half an inch that conveys everything.

“I meant, I am on the search and rescue of all the agents who were brainwashed by Loki and Agent Barton is high priority.”

Brow perfectly even now.

“Okay,  _James_. Keep me posted. I have time for… Three full hours of beauty sleep.”

“I’ll let you know if anything at all happens. Agent Romanova.”

“Agent Barnes.”

Bucky can think of a hundred pleasant ways to wake up. An hour before he absolutely has to in the small bunk bed of his private quarters in a SHIELD Helicarrier by Nat is not one of them. He’s up anyway, so he changes into some shorts and standard issue short sleeve tee shirt to hit the gym.

The fully equipped gym is empty. All the agents are on high alert and equally exhausted from all the work. Everyone who can catch some sleep is doing just that as Bucky starts up the running machine. He sets it to a nice speed for jogging. Even the gym equipment got better after Stark decided to be friendly with them. After ten miles and a nice cool down, Bucky uses the locker room showers, only because it’s got those high-pressure nozzles. The private ones in their quarters are cramped and drizzles water down. Steamy hot water relaxes his sore muscles from the previous thirty-eight hours.

He’d been in Canada. SHIELD had been contacted about illegal human experimentation in the northern most heavily wooded wilderness of Canada. Thinking it might be some off-shoot Alkali Lake science lab, he’d lead a team up, and had been holed up for days until the emergency call had them scrambling back down to Headquarters. At thirty-fourth hour of back-to-back debriefings and gathering his gear and a ride to board the Helicarrier with his team, Agent Barnes had fallen into his small bunk for a very short sleep.

Back in his room, he puts on his cleanest uniform and all the other necessities with ten minutes to spare before yet another debriefing. After grabbing a quick bite and arming himself with caffeine, he heads to the main control room. Deputy Commander Hill is there, attentive and barking out orders.

“Barnes.” She greets him coolly when he takes his post.

He salutes casually. Time goes by rather quickly as he reads through briefings and talks with his team. The sun is coming up on the blue grey horizon beyond the thick glass surrounding the wide view of the control room. They are not getting any leads on Loki and the tracker on Barton and the other agents have been compromised. All the agents have trackers for these precarious situations. Bucky sighs, rubbing at his temple. He gets up to grab more coffee, smiling pleasantly at his team asking if anyone wants a refill. They all request for more coffee.

“Sir,” Maria Hill speaks into her earpiece. There’s only one person she calls Sir. “Coulson ETA four hours. Rogers is onboard, Sir.”

Bucky’s ears prick at the name. Rogers. Steven. Captain America.

One of his teammates had clapped him on the shoulder when they all heard. Because…

“No, Sir. Nothing on Stark yet.”

His team looks at him as he stands there frozen to the spot. Frozen. Captain America.

Bucky hopes he can be reassigned for on a mission far away from the Helicarrier. He’s sure he can find something else to do, away from Captain America, Steve Rogers, for the endurance of this.

  

\---  

  

Steve takes to JOCASTA. Her voice is pleasant, and she is informative. She gives him all the information on everything he asks for. He figures out the ‘telephone’ function on the tablet, and calls out to one agent who takes him to some of the spots around the city. The agent has her dark brown hair pulled back into a neat and tight ponytail and her suit is immaculate. She does not meet his eyes nor does she offer up her name. She hands him a duffle of clothing. They aren’t all white and Steve finds them pleasant. A pair of khaki trousers and a plain shirt that fits over his stupid big arms and shoulders. When he’d woken up again, he’d forgotten that he was bigger. JOCASTA is nestled over his lap as the car drives them around the city. The windows are blacked out so the pedestrians can’t see him. Not that anyone would recognize him, Steve thinks. Apparently, Captain America is a hero and he’s been dead for seventy years. No one comes back from death. Steve is thinking, good, as those thoughts swirl around his head. No one to know him. No one with big starry eyes asking for autographs and kiss babies.

No one to clasp his shoulder and tell him to snap out of it.

No one offering him to dance.

No one to tell him the plan is stupid and he won’t survive the jump.

“Is there anywhere in particular you would like to go to, Captain Rogers?”

The agent’s voice is sort of like JOCASTA’s except she has an indistinct American accent. Steve imagines JOCASTA would look like this agent is she were a real person.

“Brooklyn.”

The car makes a few turns. Steve studies the streets with avid interest. Everything is different. The streets are full of people. So far he’s only seen agents in modern suits. The people on the streets are all so… Different. Clothes are certainly different. They laugh more than the people during the thirties and the forties. They’d not gone through a serious depression and a war, with an impending war, and the people look… Happy. Just happy to be living, walking through the streets on this warm summer day. Steve grips JOCASTA just a bit tighter.

“Take me…”

_Home… Steve… We can go home_ …

“Take me back, please.”

They cross back over the bridge in silence.

  

\--- 

  

Steve gets used to the routine of waking up to the sun rising, eating breakfast, showering in the bright white tiled bathroom and spending the day reading and watching movies. Steve is shown to a gym on the lower floor of the building he lives in. It is designed just like the one he used to work out in, back in the 1930’s with James. James had worked at the gym, cleaning and maintaining some of the equipment, and even sparring with the few fellows who needed someone in the rings. Any time James worked, Steve had been allowed in for free, to lift some weights and use the punching bag. It had been one of James’ ideas, so that Steve could burn off some of the energy and anger, get some practice for his swings, and so he could gain some muscle mass by working out. It hadn’t helped to make him stronger, but it had indeed helped to punch a bag instead of making poor attempts at the bullies. Steve feels a twinge in his chest at the memories. The gym even smells the same, dusty and warm.

Steve works out at the gym until he feels hungry enough, returns to his apartment to eat. For the rest of the afternoon, he reads or stares down at the blank sketchbook page with a pencil in hand. It is white like the walls and sheets and his clothes, like his mind, like the spaces in his memories he can’t place correctly.

Except that it’s not all fuzzy. It’s all too sharp, the edges and colors saturated and bright.

He asks JOCASTA to play a movie on the big screen on the wall. An old movie he knows plays, dramatic music opening up to credits.

“What is considered the best film… ever?”

The movie pauses.

“According to fans and critics, there are several feature length films that have been rated very highly. The Howling Commandos film produced in 1992 is considered one of them.”

“Can you play anything besides that one?”

“Certainly, Captain Rogers.”

The title of the film is called ‘ _The Shawshank Redemption_ ’ and Steve is easily absorbed into the characters and story. He identifies so easily with the need to escape, pretending to be good and obedient, but secretly plotting a hole to crawl out of nonetheless.

  

\--- 

  

Steve doesn’t know if he needs to pack. He studies the packet about the Tesseract. He’s hit with anger; they were playing with something they shouldn’t have been messing around with. It has the potential for things so much bigger than anything on Earth. Schmidt, The Red Skull, shouldn’t have messed with it. He’d paid the price by disintegrating. Now SHIELD is paying its price. Cursing to himself, Steve throws some clean shirts, underwear, and slacks into his duffel bag. He has some paperback books of Stephen King, after watching several films his stories have been adapted to screenplays for. He doesn’t enjoy the horror novels but they were all available at a dollar each at the used bookstore he’d gone to with two accompanying agents.

He takes JOCASTA and he hopes this is goodbye to the white apartment. He’ll take the star-spangled tights over this perpetual boredom, the energy and feelings that’s been building up inside his chest.

The car ride is short and silent. He tells the agents thank you as he steps out of the car. He is met with a man in a non-descript suit, tall and wearing a smile. The man walks up to him, hand thrusting forward for Steve to grasp.

“Captain Rogers. It is such an honor to meet you. It is… Amazing.”

“Hello.”

“I…” The man blushes. “I’m Coulson. I’m a senior agent for SHIELD. We will be traveling together to… convene with the others.”

“Others?”

“Please.” Coulson leads him toward what Steve thinks is a jet. There are no propellers and it is small. Steve sits to the side with Coulson as it takes off. The jet is quiet and fast. Coulson hands him a large tablet and shows him how to open files for the ‘others’ he’d just mentioned. This tablet is large but light and looks different from JOCASTA. Steve assumes that everyone has one of these, all in different formats and designs. He reads and watches the clips.

“One of SHIELD’s best agents has been brainwashed and taken by Loki. Agent Barton. Codename ‘Hawkeye’.”

“Hum.” Steve clicks on Agent Barton’s name. It shows some basic information about him, with a few video clips. He uses a bow and arrow but is skilled at hand to hand combat with knives and such. 

“That is Loki’s brother. Thor. He was there when… An alien destroyed a small town in Arizona last year.” Steve clicks on the name. Copies of surveillance videos surface. He is a huge man, probably will tower over Steve, with a giant hammer. A hammer. “We’re not sure if Thor will return to Earth.”

It’s a lot of information for Steve to take in. A scientist who turns into an indestructible green monster. An alien prince and his brother. Highly skilled agents. And Howard’s son.

“Tony… Stark.”

“It’s best to not rely on Mr. Stark.”

The jet is over water now, flying straight.

  

\---  

  

Agent Barnes stands on the windy tarmac with his hands folded in front. His eyes feel heavy against the salty wind in his face but he keeps still. The earpiece crackles and tells him that Coulson is just a minute away. He can see the jet overhead.

“Agent Barnes,” Natasha is on his nine, silent, like his cat does to him. He’s used to Natasha or Bullet sneaking up on him so he doesn’t jump. Although he’s feeling the caffeine in his system.

“Hey Nat.”

“Are you ready?”

Nat’s question is loaded. Bucky knows what she means though. Coulson’s arrival means meetings, more meetings and more coffee and… Steve Rogers. Bucky’s successfully avoided being ‘James Barnes’ Grandson’ in SHIELD. He’d done the whole thing in grade school, high school, and even during the length of his Army career. He’d met the other living Howling Commandos and has met two Presidents on behalf of his legendary grandfather. The reason he’d chosen SHIELD after the Army had been because no one bat an eye about his family. They only cared about his range scores and his abilities. Bucky shakes his thoughts back to the present.

“Ain’t I always?”

Nat sends a smirk his way.

Coulson’s jet lands in the middle of the airstrip. They stand still until the jet powers down and settles. Nat walks on ahead of him, leaving Bucky to brace himself.

Steve Rogers. His grandfather’s best friend. Bucky loved Grampa James. He’d been seven years old when he passed away in his sleep. Everyone tells him how much he looks like Grampa James. They pull up photos of Grampa James from his World War II days on their phones and compare their faces. Bucky admits that he resembles him in a way but they are completely different people. Grampa James had never talked about Steve Rogers. It’d been in the history books and on television and in the movies that Bucky’s never watched. So much of Grampa James’ life had been revolved around Steve Rogers. So had his father’s. So had his, until recently, after joining SHIELD. So Bucky tells himself it’s not a big deal and he doesn’t have to care about this man except in work setting as he follows Natasha towards the jet.

Coulson casually greets them both. Nat informs him he’s needed in the control room to begin the face-trace before turning to the tall man walking off the jet. Coulson smiles at Bucky, patting him on the arm before heading in.

The sunlight blinds Bucky for a moment. Steve Rogers is suddenly towering over him. Even though Bucky isn’t a small man, standing at six feet and with a good build, Steve Rogers blocks the sun out of his eyes and Bucky realizes that Captain America is staring down at him. His face is almost comical, mouth hanging open and blue eyes unblinking. Bucky thrusts his hand forward.

“Nice to meet you, Captain Rogers. My name is Bucky Barnes.”

Steve Rogers looks down at his hand and then back up to his face. Steve Rogers’ hand is large and warm against his, soft strong grip, not bone-crushing, but careful.

“It was quite the buzz around here, finding you in the ice.” Natasha’s voice cuts the small tension between them. Steve Rogers lets go.

“Right. I… I’m glad to be here. Agent… Barnes?”

“Yes.”

Steve Rogers bites down on his lip. Bucky finds he’s staring at them, red and full and so unlike the photos he’s seen in history books. Not that he paid much attention to them during school hours but seeing him like this, real, breathing and wearing the sunlight around his silhouette like a halo, Bucky suddenly feels overwhelmed.

Natasha goes off to the other jet that’s just landed. 

“Yes.” Bucky says.

“I didn’t ask… anything.”

Bucky doesn’t know if he wants to punch Rogers or laugh at him for being an idiot. He opts to give the man his best professional smile.

“James Buchanan Barnes. I grew up in Brooklyn. Sergeant James Barnes was my grandfather.”

Steve Rogers looks like he’ll break down in hysterics or start sobbing. Okay, there are tears forming in his eyes. Bucky turns his head, focusing on something, anything, else. He finds Nat shaking hands with a man he identifies as Dr. Banner.

“Agent Barnes,” Steve Rogers calls him. He’s trying to control his trembling voice and taking a deep intake of air. He has his hand up, so Bucky meets him halfway and shakes his hand again. Steve Rogers tells him, “It was an honor to serve with your grandfather during the war. I look forward to working with you.”

Bucky’s breath catches in his throat.

“Yeah… Same here.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JOCASTA is the name of one of Tony Stark's many AI's. The name can be seen briefly in the background in The Avengers: Age of Ultron, when he picks out FRIDAY.

Bucky is barely standing straight on his feet as he leaves the meeting room. No amount of coffee can help him now. Bucky knows his body and he’s had training to endure being in the field with no sleep, no food and water for 72 hours but he doesn’t have a strong enough will to sustain meetings. Meetings with Coulson who’s got heart eyes for Captain America. Bucky’s endured five long meeting hours and staring at a large screen with no leads and no updates with Coulson and Captain America at his side. He takes a few deep breaths before letting his feet lead him to his room. He needs to sleep. 

The meeting room door swings open and the others spill out. 

“Oh, Agent Barnes?” Coulson calls out to him. 

“Yeah?” 

“Could you show Captain Rogers to his quarters, please? He is in the room across from yours. It was standing empty.” 

Bucky curses the world. 

“Sure. This way, Captain.” 

“Steve is fine.” He’s said this about five times. Bucky nods again. He just isn’t sure if he wants to be on first-name basis with this man. 

But Bucky is a professional. 

“The ship’s pretty big. You might get lost but it shouldn’t be too hard to figure out.” 

“Sure thing.” 

Bucky plays nice and points out some of the rooms as they pass them. They take the elevator and go down a few decks. 

“Each deck has a cafeteria. They all serve the same things and each is open all day long. Coffee’s pretty good.” 

“How long have you been with SHIELD?” 

“Not long. About three years. I served in the Army for six years before this. Rangers.” 

“How’s Army rations these days?” 

Bucky chuckles. 

“It’s not bad. Coffee here is definitely better.” 

“Not much of a coffee guy.” 

Bucky pretends to be offended. 

“You’ll need it. I mean… I’m sure you’ll be needing it.” 

Steve laughs. It sounds good. Bucky reminds himself that this guy had been Grampa James’ friend. He’s born in the 1910s. If he’d not crashed and been frozen in ice, Bucky might have sat on his lap as a toddler, listening to stories. He stops in front of a set of doors. 

“So, uh, that’s you. This is me.” 

“Thank you, Agent Barnes.” 

“Bucky, please.” 

Steve smiles at him. “See you in the morning.” 

“Yeah. Good night.” 

Steve easily figures out the button to slide open the door and closes it behind him. Bucky stumbles back into his quarters. 

“Barnes.” 

“Jesus Nat!” Bucky jumps. “What are you doing in my room?” 

“Waiting for you, obviously.” 

Bucky takes a few calming breaths. He sends Nat a glare before chucking off his uniform. Nat studies her nailbeds as he finds clean sweatpants. 

“What? Say it.” 

Nat smiles at him, one of her private smiles. “He’s cuter than in those war reels.” 

Bucky feels his face get hot so he trudges into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. 

“I swear Coulson woulda swooned in that meeting room. I’m surprised he didn’t jump the guy.” 

That gets Nat laughing. 

“He kind of reminds me of… What was his name? The coffee shop guy that you went out with.” 

“Ben? No way. He does not.” 

Nat pretends to contemplate on that. “You’re right. Steve is a lot cuter. Taller, too. And those shoulders!” 

Bucky rolls his eyes. Leave it to Nat to point out his weaknesses. But Bucky doesn’t want to think about Steve in that way. So he retorts with, “He’s straight.” 

“You don’t know that. Maybe we should find out.” 

“I’m not gonna… He’s my grandfather’s best friend!” 

One of Nat’s brows arch higher. “He’s been frozen for the past seventy years, Barnes. That makes him…” Nat counts in her head. “He’s twenty-seven.” 

“No. Just… No. Drop it.” 

Nat raises her hands. “Fine. Dropping. Dropped.” 

Bucky lands horizontal on his bed behind where Nat is sitting. He throws his arm over his eyes. The bunk is small but Nat curls up next to him. Bucky lets her. Natasha vibrates like his cats do. Nat doesn’t sleep unless she’s locked inside her apartment, triple vaulted and a hundred security measures in place. Bucky listens to her even breathing. 

“Those shoulders though.” 

“Shut up! Go to sleep!” 

Nat laughs at him for a solid minute until he falls into a deep sleep. 

   

   

\---  

   

   

Steve Rogers startles awake. The room is small and dark and there’s a speck of red light on the wall. There are no sounds. The air is compressed and it feels hard to breathe, like an asthma attack. Steve thrashes, the woolen blanket tangling around his legs. Has he been captured? Is this a prison cell? Caught in some kind of nightmare. He can’t scream. His legs get tangled further and his skin feels wet. Has HYDRA got him? What year is it? Where are his men? Where’s James? 

James’ face comes into view. It jolts Steve out of his head. The sudden intake of air hurts his chest. James is safe. James is alive. 

“Captain Rogers!” James’ voice sounds far away, echoing and shrouded in fog. “Captain!” 

Steve is aware of shoulders being shaken. His arms feel heavy like his bones can’t handle the weight of the muscles. He tries to push James away. 

“Steve! Steve, hey… It’s… It’s a bad dream. It was a bad dream.” 

James’ hand feels clammy over his exposed skin. 

“I heard you screaming. I let myself in.” 

Steve sobs. He doesn’t want to wake up to a world without James, without his friends, Mama, Peggy. 

“Hey, it’s okay.” 

Steve lets James gather him against his shoulder, letting the tears flow. 

“Shh. You’re safe.” James’ voice is soothing, whispered into his hair. “What can I do? How can I help?” 

Steve doesn’t know. He shakes his head. 

“I can sing something?” 

Steve nods. 

“Uh, let’s see. I’m not sure if I have the right lyrics but… Here goes.” 

James stifles a chuckle against his head and clears his throat. 

“Who’s strong and brave, here to save the American way?” 

Steve guffaws when he realizes what the song is. 

“Who vows to fight like a man for what’s right night and day? Who will campaign door to door for America, Carry the flag short to shore for America, from Hoboken to Spokane—you gotta help me with the next part!” 

Steve lifts his head, swiping his face with his hands. The room isn’t as dark as he’s thought. Maybe Bucky had turned the lights on. Bucky. Not James. Bucky, with his stubborn chin, more chiseled than James and with stubbles. Bucky’s hair is a shade darker than James’ and longer, grown almost to his shoulders, tucked behind his ears. Bucky has more bulk; although James had been plenty tall back then. But their eyes are the same. The same shade of unmistakable blue gray, playful smile crinkling in the corners. Steve physically shakes to send all the thoughts and memories to the back of his mind, coming back to the present. 

Bucky continues singing in his husky baritone. “The star-spangled man…” 

“With a plan…” Steve finishes. He sounds pathetic and drowned in snot and tears. 

Bucky leans back so Steve pushes himself away.  

“You wanna talk about it?” 

“No. That’s alright. I’ll be fine.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes.” 

“Okay. You wanna go eat or something?” 

“I think I’ll be good for a while.” 

Bucky pats his arm gently. “I’ll be at my station. Nat’s not on call and Dr. Banner should be around… If you need some company.” 

“Thank you. I’ll be okay.” 

“Coulson will always make time for you, too. Did he ask you to sign his Captain America trading cards yet?” 

“Trading cards?” 

“They’re vintage. He’s very proud.” 

James used to smile widely, showing his perfect teeth. Bucky’s smile is more guarded, chin tucked down to try to hide it. 

“I’ll see you around.” Bucky leaves, letting the automatic door slide close behind him. 

Steve’s limbs feel like overcooked noodles. He slowly kicks the tangled sheets and blanket away. It takes a while but he figures out the right buttons to press for the lights in the small shower nook, for hot water, and changing the shower pressure. When the stuff from his nightmare comes back, he doesn’t double over. He stands still, with his hand pressed against the tile, breathing steadily, an exercise he’d learned to do with Mama and then with James for his asthma back… then. 

Mama’s soft hand pressed on his forehead. James’ arm around his thin shoulders. Peggy’s perfectly curled hair and pressed uniform. Her red dress. Her red lipstick. Howard’s slicked hair and funny protective goggles. Dugan’s mustache and smoke curling out of his pipe. James’ voice. We’ll go home together, Steve. 

“The star-spangled man… with a plan…” 

Steve doesn’t cry again. He’s Captain America. 

   

\---   

   

“Stupid…” Bucky says under his breath. He’s supposed to hate the guy or at least, uninterested. But… Steve isn’t like how he’d thought he would be like. Not that he’d thought about it much, because the guy was supposed to be dead. Now he’s alive and while Bucky had hoped that they would never cross paths, he’d hoped to sock him in the jaws for making his youth difficult. Well… Bucky punches in some commands on the computer screen. Technically, it hadn’t been Steve who’d made his years difficult. It’s just that he’d needed someone to focus his anger on, and who better than a dead guy. 

And now Bucky feels bad because Steve is just a bigger than average normal guy. Bucky’s seen and dealt with a lot of guys in the Army who’ve suffered PTSD and he doesn’t want to diagnose Steve in any way, but he recognizes the symptoms. He’d invaded his space and put his hands all over the guy. Bucky decides to forget about it, watching the screen, concentrating on work. 

The surrounding agents flutter with subdued excitement. Steve Rogers is on the platform, hands tucked into the pockets of his khakis. He’s talking to Dr. Banner, the mild-mannered doctor with larger-than-life anger issues. Bucky doesn’t think about Steve, how normal he felt, sitting on the tiny bed, and how real he was. He concentrates on his task. 

It’s been 78 hours since Loki went into hiding and they have nothing. They could be anywhere now. 

Then Officer Sitwell, who oversees the face-trace, speaks up, “We have a positive match.” 

Bucky tenses, collecting and shuffling through the data. 

“Stuttgart, Germany.” 

Director Fury looks over to Steve. 

“You’re up, Captain.” 

Bucky winces. 

“Barnes,” Deputy Director Hill calls him up. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“You’re team Delta. You’ll be on search and rescue of SHIELD agents and Dr. Selvig. Priority, Selvig and Barton. Team ready in twenty.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Bucky and his team rush to get into their gear and go over the details. They are on the Quinjet in eighteen, fully geared up and armed, strapping down as Bucky tries to make sense of the mission file on his SHIELD-issued tablet. The face-trace only got Loki. Bucky thinks he’s doing something tricky, standing and walking around areas with cameras and cellular phones. Loki looks as if he’s wanting to be found, like… Like he’s bait. No Barton, no other guards. Bucky scans the surrounding area surveillance recordings, the buildings. There are museums, parks and theatres. Nothing that could… It is so hard to think with his helmet squeezing his skull. He unbuckles the chinstrap and yanks the helmet off his head. Shaking his hair out of his face, he looks up. 

Steve Rogers is walking up the plank with Nat a step ahead. Bucky wills himself to not stare, to not let his jaw drop. 

Steve Rogers is wearing a uniform made of what looks like spandex, head to toe in red, white and blue. Bucky has to look down to his lap, when Nat winks at him. 

“Wait, this is team Delta. We’re on the wrong jet,” Nat says loudly. 

Bucky glares after Nat when they turn to walk out. Steve waves to everyone as he backs down. The spandex does nothing but accentuate the most impressive backside Bucky has ever seen on a man. 

Bucky murmurs to himself, “Fuck you, Coulson. That’s a comic book uniform…” 

   

\---   

   

The stretchy material of his uniform is itchy but it’s easy to move around in. Steve admits that the material is thick and comfortable to move around in, but it feels like the showy USO uniform rather than the ones he wore during actual fighting. He doesn’t complain though, as he follows Agent Romanova towards the jets. The Agent who had shown him to where his uniform was stored had explained that it was some sort of advanced Kevlar. Steve didn’t have the time to ask what that was, and he didn’t have JOCASTA with him to search for it. He would have preferred his old uniform but it was supposedly sent to some museum for preservation. It makes him feel old and he wants to go punch something fiercely. 

Then he spots Agent Barnes in the jet, sitting in  _his_  full uniform. Steve might have missed him except that Bucky takes his helmet off and his long hair spills out. Steve feels useless in this blue suit, when everyone else looks ready for an actual battle. Even Agent Romanova, in her tight gear but no doubt having under-armor in place. Steve doesn’t even have room on his belt for a proper gun holster. There just isn’t time to ask for a new uniform, and Steve doesn’t need much, he supposes. He hefts his shield on his left arm and waves at everyone when Natasha remarks that they’re on the wrong jet. 

The flight to Stuttgart is long and quiet. Steve is given a tablet that shows him the tactical layouts of the site they’re heading to. Since they don’t know what Loki may be up to, they can only try to prepare. 

“Put these on, Captain.” 

Agent Romanova hands him a pair of headphones. 

“Go ahead, Delta-1,” she says when Steve’s fitted them over his ears. 

There is a bit of static over Bucky’s voice but Steve can hear just fine. “It looks like Loki’s target is the Museum Gala. Not sure what the motive is but he’s alone. I think… I think he’s bait.” 

“Bait.” 

“Yeah, bait. Team Gamma will be landing in five minutes. They were stationed around Portugal on a SHIELD ship. Team Gamma will set up perimeter at these points.” 

The tablet lights up dots in blue on the map Steve has been looking at. 

“Team Theta on air support. These points.” 

Orange dots appear on the map as it zooms out to accommodate the distance. 

“Team Delta will move in to locate missing SHIELD agents and Selvig. These points.” 

Green dots appear with small numbers floating around each one. 

“What kinds of museum are these?” Steve asks. 

“Art. A performance arts theatre and a science museum.” Agent Romanova supplies. 

“Science museum…” Steve zooms in. He taps on the museum website hyperlink to see what sort of things they hold. 

“The science museum is locked down heavy. They have rocks and fossils.” 

“Sounds like I should be there.” Steve jokes. He hears Barnes chuckle. Natasha turns and smirks at him. 

“Uh, yeah. The security at this museum is pretty good though. No one gets in to the research facilities without a card and retina scan. Unless Loki kidnaps someone, no way to get retina scan copies. By the time he can get that done, we can move in and capture.” 

“Just in case, it might be better to move Delta-4 and 5 to this intersection.” 

Steve hears Bucky hum. “Yeah. That’s uh… good.” 

“Delta-1 is on the roof?” 

“Yeah. Delta-1 is on sniper duty.” 

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense. Good 180-degree view of all the points.” For a brief moment, Steve remembers James, perched on a high ground, shooting down opponents, watching Steve’s six. Shooting down opponents when Steve had his hands full. 

“I think that’s all for Delta.” 

“What about Agent Romanova and me?” 

“She stays in the jet.” 

“And I’m on Loki.” 

“Yes.” Bucky’s voice is smaller. 

“Good. I wouldn’t want anyone else to get near him.” 

There’s a long enough pause for Steve to wonder if he’s said something wrong. 

“I can’t think of anything else. Widow?” Bucky asks. 

“Nope. Looks good. Widow out.” 

“Roger. Delta-1 out.” 

The communications cut off and Steve takes the headset off. 

“Bucky… Agent Barnes is…” 

“He was one of the Army’s top snipers. Just like Grampa James.” 

“Yeah. Just like James…” 

Steve smiles fondly at that. James had saved him more than once on the field, during the war. Steve has a good feeling about this one. 

“Ten minutes to landing, Cap.” Agent Romanova announces. 

“Okay. Show me where I can jump.” 

Steve keeps a close eye on the tablet and map. All the teams are in place and confirms into the earpiece Steve is fitted with under the helmet. The jet slows down and goes into stealth mode. Steve can hear his heart beating in the silence. They get close enough to see that there are people gathered in the park. 

“I have sight on Loki.” 

Steve unbuckles and grabs his shield. 

“Stop and let me out.” 

“What?!” 

“Stop the jet.” 

Steve punches the jet’s plank so it opens with a loud pop. 

“Captain!” 

Steve measures his landing spot about fifty feet below, and jumps. 

“What the fuck is happening?” Bucky’s voice crackles in his ear. 

“Captain America just jumped out of the jet.” Agent Romanova barks out. 

“Did he have a parachute?!” 

Steve lands in the crowd in front of a small man just in time to block the blue beam from Loki’s staff. The shield vibrates violently against his arm and shoulder. His knees jar a bit but Steve’s back on his feet. 

“Un-fucking-believable. He’s fine.” Agent Romanova says. 

“For Christ’s sake. Show him where the parachutes are Widow.” 

Steve doesn’t have a moment to refute the banter. He has to dodge Loki’s staff and the wild mixture of civilians running away. It’s quite a fight. It hurts, even. Steve sees stars when Loki has him on his fours, staff pointing down over his skull. But today is not the day. Steve maneuvers a counterattack and kicks Loki away. They kick and punch each other until there’s a loud crash. And music? Steve is confused. The ground shakes from the weight of Iron Man. 

“Make a move, Reindeer Games.” 

The red and gold suit stands before him, hands poised to attack Loki. 

“Mr. Stark.” 

“Captain.” 

Loki surrenders, his magical gold armor fading. They grab and move Loki into the Quinjet. 

“Delta-9 and 10 confirms Barton and the others have broken into the research facility and grabbed… Iridium. Delta-2 and 3 are down but not killed. Arrow Wounds. Remaining Delta did not have contact with Barton or Selvig. Repeat. Negative contact with Barton or Selvig. Delta moving out.” 

“Gamma moving out.” 

“Theta moving out.” 

Steve rips the helmet off his head. He watches Iron Man do the same, accompanied by the sound of sliding metal. 

Tony Stark does not reach out to Steve and Steve keeps a respectable distance. But Steve can’t help but think how much he looks like Howard. 

“Nice, uh, uniform.” 

Steve can feel his face burn. 

“Let me guess. Coulson?” 

“Don’t know what you mean.” Steve says defensively. 

“Coulson’s single fetish is Captain America. I almost think that’s why he joined SHIELD.” 

Steve looks at Agent Romanova for help but she isn’t paying attention to them. 

“You should have seen his tweets when they found you.” 

“Tweets?” 

“Oh, don’t know Twitter yet? Facebook? Google? Huh. What have they been doing with you?” 

“I know what Google is.” 

“Of course. How’s JOCASTA treating you?” 

“How do you know…” 

“I programmed her. I made her. In my spare time while I was getting my Ph.D. in engineering at MIT. She was useful then, but now I have someone better so… I put her in to a tablet and sent it over for you. You’re welcome.” 

It is unnerving for Steve to hear Tony Stark refer to his tablets and programs as people. But Steve understands a little. When he’d been alone in that room, he only had JOCASTA.  

“She’s got her flaws but I figured she would be useful for you and your… Limited experience.” 

“She was.” Steve wants Tony Stark to stop talking. Everything this guy is saying to him feels like a personal attack. 

Steve sits down to check the data from the other teams. He’s particularly interested in Team Delta’s data. Even Tony Stark is tolerable until Loki starts talking. And an alien prince invades and kidnaps their prisoner. And Stark does not listen to him. Steve locates the packed parachute. Then he jumps off the plane for the second time that night. There’s an imaginary headache forming just between his brows. But he smiles to himself just before pulling the chute. 

Smiling at the knowledge that he’s not the only ‘special’ one out there, not anymore. 

  

\---   

   

“No.” Steve’s voice is flat. 

Bucky’s fingers inch closer to the gun in his holster. 

“You can’t tell me what to do.” Bucky winces internally at his childish retort. “The Hulk and Thor ripped through this ship like it’s made of paper. And Loki is going to do worse. To civilians! I’m coming with you.” 

“No, Agent Barnes.” Steve says again. 

“Nat and Clint are in no condition to—“ Bucky cuts himself off. “You’ll need all the help you can get.” 

Steve takes his eyes off of him, looking to Clint and Nat. They shrug and finish arming themselves. Stark joins them, having finished the minor emergency repairs on his suit, enough to get him to New York. 

“Are you guys finished? ‘Cause we have to save the world and all that jazz.” Stark says, tossing the ‘head’ of his suit between his hands. “If the Agent says he could be helpful then it’s his funeral.” 

The sharp glare Steve throws at Stark is deadly. Bucky sucks in a deep breath. 

“Agent Barnes needs to stay on this ship. That’s final.” 

Bucky hisses out the held breath. He can feel Stark’s eyes on him now. 

“Barnes. As in, James? You’re little James?” 

Jaws clamped down, Bucky nods. 

“Wow! It’s been… Well, I get why Captain’s all—anyways, I should… get a head start.” 

Stark backs away, muttering something about the suit, to the table he’d been using to tinker with his suit. 

Steve stands there, fiddling with the gloves in his hands. He watches Stark suit up, making final adjustments and running through checks on his Iron Man suit. Since the moment they'd met in Stuttgart, to the little argument on the Quinjet, and the blowout they had in the lab, Steve scowls at the "team". For a moment, Steve thinks grimly if they have any chance at all. Bucky is right. Agent Barton and Romanova are in bad shape, and neither have his capacity for healing. Stark may have another suit but he'll have to make it to Stark Tower in order to retrieve it. Who knows where Banner and Thor are? And maybe, Steve think, biting down hard on his lip, Loki has already proven that it's all futile. 

Bucky shoulders a rifle of his choice, checking for the ammos in his utility belt. 

"I'm ready," Bucky says, defiantly. 

Steve growls out, "I can't be watching your back out there." 

Bucky's eyes are cold. Barton freezes next to him, voicelessly mouthing, 'Oh, Shit!' 

"I don't need you to watch my back." 

"You're... you're just a kid. You're... James'…" 

"So what? So fucking what? I'm James Barnes' grandson, so what? What's that got to do with you? It don't mean you gotta be protecting me, you or anyone else!" Bucky screams, fists clenched tight. "You weren't there for him, and you don't mean anything to me! I'm an agent for SHIELD and it's my call if I need to go out there and protect the people!" 

Steve can only watch Bucky stomp into the Quinjet, Barton following after him. Agent Romanova studies him for a moment. 

"We have no time to lose, Captain." 

"Yeah... I..." 

"Can you trust that James can take care of himself? Because I do." Agent Romanova says softly. "He cares about the people. He wants to protect them, me, Clint... You. You've got to trust him, me... Us... Or we can't be a team." 

"Are we?" Steve has the same doubts as Stark. 

"This is exactly what Loki wanted. But we can prove him wrong. We just have to try." 

Steve squares his shoulders, breathing deep. 

Yes. War. He can do this. He can fight to his death. He can crash into the ice again without hesitance, if he has to. He just doesn't want anyone else to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Beautiful Artwork!](http://thisfanisonfire.tumblr.com/post/164309215273/art-pieces-for-the-fic-red-white-those-other) \- Please go check it out! Cats!!


	3. Chapter 3

The bike is hefty and sturdy between his thighs as Steve drives down the long straight road. It feels good. It’s closer to autumn now. He tries to not think about the hole in the sky or aliens pouring out of them, or the broken buildings and the casualties. They’d held him in a room along with the other ‘Avengers’ as relief efforts went underway. And Steve hadn’t been allowed to help. That had been the worst kind of feeling. 

All he could do was breathe through another hour, another minute and pretend he was okay with all of that. It had not been. During the war, any time he could be of help, rescuing folks from their homes and towns after the Nazis raided through, or anything that had made a difference to the people, he’d been so glad of. He’d signed up to do exactly that, and this… This is not that. 

So, he’d told Nick Fury that he wants some time off, alone, far away from the city, if possible. 

And he’d been given a bike, a set of keys and cash. 

“No tracking me.” 

“We wouldn’t dream of it.” 

He’d had a moment to say goodbye to everyone else before climbing on the motorcycle. Nat had told him sternly, “Let me know what you’re up to.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” He’d answered. And he’d not asked about Bucky, even though the question was poking at him. 

Steve understands completely. 

He lets the bike roll and breaks to a stop at the intersection. There are no other cars on the road. The bike roars. 

It’d been instinct. And he’d certainly not thought of Bucky as a child. So, that accusation had stung. 

There’d been no time to explain that and he’s not seen Bucky since the Battle of New York. He’d not asked anyone either, even though Natasha brought it up a few times. 

The sky is fading overhead and the sun is setting on the horizon behind him. He drives on, east. He passes a block that has various shops. Other than the three restaurants, all of them are closed for the evening. There are cars parked along the road. Steve yields for the couple crossing the street, holding hands, laughing. Steve waves back when they’re on the other side and revs along the road again. 

He has to check his map three times to make sure he’s at the right place. It doesn’t look like anything SHIELD would own. It’s a small house, among a neat row of similarly designed houses. This one’s got fencing around the property, painted in white, with neat hedges and tended flowers. The grass is well taken care of and the outside of the house is kept tidy. The cream orange color is an odd choice, Steve thinks, standing as quirky among the other whitewashed facades of its neighbors. Steve smiles to himself, steadying the bike under his thighs. There is space to park the bike next to a cute mailbox designed like a goose. After unpacking his duffel from the bike, he hefts himself up to the front door. He isn’t sure if he has to knock, but Fury had told him he’d be alone here. He turns the key and lets himself in. 

Steve yawns, stretching out his back after the long drive. He wants to sleep. 

His body reacts before anything else, at the sound of wood creaking from the small hallway. 

His mind blanks out. 

“Captain?” 

“Bucky?” 

   

\---   

   

Bucky has regrets but it’s too late. Besides… But… It doesn’t matter. It’s not like he’ll encounter Steve again. 

Still, he can have regrets. He shouldn’t have said that. He hadn’t meant that. He should have thanked the guy for having his six, not yelled things. He’d been stressed out. His brain had been wanting to shut down from the lack of sleep. He’d had aliens shooting at him. He’d had aliens trying to choke him, clawing at him to take him down. Aliens! 

After Stark pulled his suicidal, save-the-world stunt with the nuclear bomb, and all the aliens had gone down for good, Bucky had left the scene for the heroes to take charge of the aftermath, to do with Loki whatever they wanted, and gone home. He’d conked out on the couch and had woken up after seven hours of blissful, uninterrupted sleep. People had been angry but also understood that he’d needed to  _sleep_. He’d gone to work and hadn’t run into Steve Rogers and that was that. 

Other than Nat nagging about Steve Rogers. 

He’d pushed for a vacation, unashamedly using his charm, pouting and making his eyes big, scratching at the bandages over his wounds from the battle. 

He’d come to his family’s vacation house in Montauk with a trunk full of groceries and other necessities for a rest, away from everything. He’d slept almost all day, waking up only to have a snack and a shower later. As he crunched down on some carrot sticks, inspiration had hit him and soon, he was shoving the pan of cheesy lasagna into the oven. He’d showered, put on some clean soft tee shirt and boxers before dinner, reveling in the calm quiet day away from work and noise. Until he’d heard the door open and an invader come in. 

“Captain?” 

What the fuck? 

“Bucky?” 

Steve Rogers looks confounded. 

“Why are you in my house?” 

“Uh…” Steve is frozen in his spot and looks around the small living room. “This is your house?” 

“Well, yes and no. It’s my family’s vacation house. Why are you here?” 

“Fury gave me the keys?” Steve pulls out an envelope from his pocket. Bucky remains where he is, one foot in the hall, the other one in his room. He watches Steve fumble to open up a piece of paper from the envelope. “Fury gave me this address and the keys after I told him I needed some quiet time, away from things. It says here, that this is my… house.” 

“What? What do you mean, ‘my house’?”  

Bucky trudges towards Steve, snatching the paper from his hand. It really is the deed to this house, signed by James Barnes and Margaret Carter to Steven Grant Rogers. There’s a sticky note on the corner that says,  _‘_ _They bought this for you, for memory_ _’s_ _sake.’_  

“Oh my god. Oh my god!” Bucky clasps a hand over his mouth. “It’s really your house… And my family’s been using it… Oh god!” 

Bucky looks up at Steve. Steve is blushing, rubbing the side of his neck with his large hand. 

“I… Don’t know what to say. I didn’t…” Steve’s face turns brighter red, unable to meet his eyes. “I should go. You’re on a vacation? I should go… I’ll find a motel or something…” 

“Wait!” Bucky calls, grabbing Steve’s sleeve. “Steve, wait. You shouldn’t have to go. I should go. It’s your house and… I’ve got no right to be here.” 

Steve’s eyes flash, staring straight into Bucky’s. It’s the same straight piercing look Bucky had seen during the battle. 

“Anything that’s mine is James’. He’s my… Best friend. It’s got my name on it, so what? You and your family kept the place up, and it… It looks like… A home…” 

There is a twinge inside Bucky’s chest at the tone Steve uses to say that. Home. 

“Look… There’s two rooms. We can stay in the same house and vacation and rest without bothering each other. Yes?” 

Steve starts to smile. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah. I mean… I’m gonna be sleeping most of the time anyway. Or cooking. Or… I don’t know. We can stay out of each other’s hair. And if it doesn’t work, one of us can leave. It’s just a vacation anyway. A few days, am I right?” 

“Yeah. Yes. I’d like to.” 

“Okay. Cool. You got the left. I’m on the right. Kitchen, living room, bathroom. The linens should be clean. There’s more in the closet if you need.” Bucky points to things. It’s pretty standard and it’s a small house. But Steve looks around with a grin and it makes Bucky smile, too. Bucky is about to offer Steve food when the black fur-ball graces them with his presence and grazes Steve’s calf. Steve lights up more than Bucky’s ever seen on someone. It looks good on Steve. 

Steve picks up the cat, not minding the claws digging into his jacket. 

“Hi! Who is this sweet guy?” 

Bucky needs to pinch himself or something, at the voice Steve uses on his cat. 

“That’s, um,” Bucky clears his throat, suddenly too dry. “That’s Bullet.” 

Steve glances up, eyebrows hitching up at the name. 

“It’s short for Bulletproof.” 

Steve Rogers smiles at him. Bucky fidgets. 

“Hi Bullet! You’re the handsomest cat I’ve ever seen. Yes, you are! You are!” 

Bucky wants to remove that image out of his brain. 

“There’s another one. He must be hiding. Lucky. He’s grey.” 

Bullet jumps out of Steve’s grasp, landing safely and glides away. 

“Isn’t Lucky more of a dog’s name?” 

“Hey, don’t discriminate.” 

Steve raises two hands. 

“I think it’s cute you gave your cat a dog’s name.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes and heads for the kitchen. He’d left the lasagna pan in the oven to stay warm. After checking on it, he turns the oven off completely, pulling two plates out of the cabinet. He decides to just let Steve serve himself, setting out the container of sliced veggies from the refrigerator and two cans of soda. Steve accepts the plate gladly and with? a little reserve, and waits for Bucky to sit on the little table in the kitchen. Steve looks like a puppy, eyeing the food in front of him but waiting as patiently as he can for permission to eat. So, Bucky hands Steve the serving knife, casually tossing out, “Help yourself. I made too much food so eat as much you want. I, uh, need to check the oven.” 

Steve has a mouthful of lasagna when Bucky sits down again. There’s no talking. Just chewing and drinking. The cats come out to check out what is happening in the kitchens, Bullet circling around Bucky’s feet before slinking towards Steve. Lucky sticks with Bucky, boldly jumping up over his lap, perching, watching his human. 

“This is Lucky.” 

“Hi Lucky. Your dad is a wonderful cook.” 

“Thanks.” Bucky hopes he’s not blushing. “But really, they consider me their human slave so… No ‘dad’ thing. It kind of weirds me out.” 

“Sure, Buck.” 

Bucky goes back to eating. Steve’s on his third helping, which Bucky is sort of flattered by. He wonders how much Steve works out. If he needs to work out. What he does when he does work out. How much he benches or presses. He doesn’t ask those things though. 

“They’re Radiohead songs.” Bucky blurts out. 

“Hmm?” Steve asks with his mouth full. His eyes get big and bright. 

“Lucky and Bulletproof are titles of Radiohead songs. Radiohead is a very popular British band. I grew up listening to them. I named my cats after songs.” 

Steve chews and swallows and then bites down on his lip. His face is blushing again. 

“That, honestly, is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard, Buck.” 

Bucky scratches Lucky’s head, his fur soft under his fingertips. Steve Rogers is not flirting with him. Steve Rogers is from a different time, with different ways of expressing things, and he’s  _not_  flirting. He’s… Grampa James’… Best friend. 

Bucky yawns dramatically. It makes Lucky jump off his lap. 

“Oh, man, I am beat. I think I’ll go to bed. Leave everything in the sink and just wrap up the leftovers. There’s some containers around in the cabinets. And uh… Okay! Good night.” 

Bucky hurriedly leaves the kitchen. 

“Goodnight, Bucky.” 

Behind the closed door, Bucky tries to calm himself down. Because he didn’t just flirt with Captain America. 

  

\---   

  

Steve pats his stomach full of food. Bucky is such a good cook. He loves everything Bucky makes. He feels bad, and asks again if he’s really okay with sharing the vacation house. Bucky waves him off, and goes out for a long walk. Steve plays with Bullet on the living room floor. The carpet here is thick and soft. Steve relaxes enough by the third day, exploring the house. There are a few books in the shelf above the board games. The small television doesn’t receive anything, only playing static. There is a deck connected to the TV for playing VHS, Bucky explains, which is an outdated system. There are several movies. Steve understands how they work; they are like more compact versions of film reels. He enjoys the movies. 

Bucky always goes out during the day, coming back with arm full of groceries just as the sun is going down. 

Steve drives to the beach, to the big lake, to the lighthouse and around the small shopping district. He likes the rocky beaches, sitting on the edge of the rocky crescent, listening to the silence between the rolling waves. He can think about stuff, organize them so that they make sense. He’s woken up, lost everything, fighting for a world he doesn’t know, and he wonders if it is the answer; fighting. Using his shield for this new world. 

It is filled with sadness, this world. It is filled with war, battles, terrorism, hate and fear. It is filled with strange things. He’s witnessed a prince from another world, harbinger of wrath, and he’s fought them. And all the news articles he reads, all the documentary he reads are filled with stories about blind hate, about killing another, about kids who shoot their classmates, about parents killing their own children, about people getting bashed for being different. These things all hurt and confuse Steve and he wonders if he could have made a difference if he’d lived. 

The stars appear in the cloudless, dark grey sky. Steve heads back. 

Bucky has prepared a large bowl of salad and some chicken cutlets. Bucky bites down on his lip when he enters the kitchen. 

“Hungry?” Bucky asks. 

Steve nods, although it feels like there’s a boulder stuck inside his stomach. 

Bullet slinks into the kitchen, circling around Steve’s leg. 

Steve pushes the food around on this plate. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Just some things on my mind.” 

Bucky sips the water in his glass. Instead of pushing Steve to talk, he asks, “Do you get drunk?” 

Steve’s mouth twitches into a small quick smile. “Haven’t once after the serum.” 

“Do you want to try?” 

“That’s okay, Buck.” 

Bucky grabs two bottles of beer from the refrigerator, twisting the caps open as he returns to the table. 

“Just one beer. I don’t enjoy drinking either. You can tell by the vast amount of alcohol I have here.” 

“Sure.” 

They eat and drink in silence. Steve thinks, maybe, he should talk to Bucky about it. Or someone else. 

“Just so you know… My vacation’s up in two days. So, I’ll be leaving tomorrow evening.” Bucky says, his voice even, between shallow pulls from his bottle. 

Steve isn’t surprised. Maybe he’s… He wants… He still wants something he can’t have. A home to come back to, familiar faces, home-cooked meals and a single place in the world where he is  _Steve_ , not… Steve can’t hold unto Bucky. His mouth spills out a small, “Oh.” 

“Yeah.” Bucky’s blunt fingertips are picking at the bottle label. 

“Sorry I – I invaded your vacation and all that.” 

“Stop. Seriously.” 

Bucky stands from the table, chair-legs scraping loudly. 

“Look, Steve. I’m sorry about that shit I said to you. I didn’t mean it like that. I  _know_  you didn’t mean it in that way either. It’s just, my entire life, I’ve been measured by the stuff that Grampa James or my Dad did. I’ve been living twenty some years trying to prove all of them wrong. And you appear and you save my ass, and you…” 

Steve follows Bucky. He feels small standing near him. 

“I am so sorry about that, Buck. I wanted to… I don’t know. I didn’t think. I know you can take care of yourself. I just…” 

Steve looks down on the parquet floor. It’s smooth and shiny under the soft orange kitchen light. He has no idea how to make this better. 

“I got a lot of baggage. It ain’t your fault, Steve. I shouldn’t have. It was just… there were aliens attacking us.” 

The lightness in Bucky’s voice, the slight accent he uses deliberately, eases Steve just a little bit. He looks up into Bucky’s eyes. The soft glow of the kitchen light is reflected in them, making them a little grey, soft blues. Steve feels his heart rate quicken. 

Bucky’s fingers drum over the counter surface. He takes a deep breath. 

“You know, while I was serving, they got rid of DADT.” 

Steve questions with his eyes. 

“It stands for  _Don’t Ask Don’t Tell_. It’s for… You can look it up later, but in short, it’s don’t ask if they’re gay and don’t tell if you are.” 

“Oh.” 

“It got repealed but I was always scared to come out, you know. I didn’t… I always knew but I didn’t have the courage to, because… It’s a scary world.” 

“It is.” 

Bucky tilts his head at Steve’s statement. A lock of hair falls away from behind his ear, the tips brushing over his shoulder. 

“I keep thinking about this world, how much hate there is. That nothing much has changed. It looks like it got worse. It was bad back then, but now it’s… It’s terrifying and… I don’t know what I’m supposed to fight for.” Steve feels a little better, admitting the things he’s been thinking so hard on. He doesn’t know if he’s able to say these things because it’s Bucky or if he’s ready to. Maybe it’s both. Steve hopes it’s both. 

“Yeah, it feels like that sometimes, like everyone’s out to get you. But there’s so much more good things.” 

Steve rubs his face. 

“Like… I think about my sister and her new baby. I fight for that. There’s been a lot of medical advancements, science, and stuff that’s improved people’s lives. There’s music. There’s art. So many new beautiful things. Uh… Theatre. Books. There are more people who are good, who create. There are bad people and bad things happening and the media blasts these things in our faces but… There’s more good than bad things.” 

Bucky bites his lips in thought. 

“Like, Bullet and Lucky.” Steve comments. 

“Yeah!” Bucky smiles widely, the ends of his eyes crinkling. “There’s Bullet and Lucky. You’ve just not seen enough and you’re thinking too much. What did you fight for back in the forties?” 

“Freedom. America. Against the Nazis and Hydra.” 

“It’s still the same. We fight for freedom. Everyone I know, from the Army or SHIELD… They fight for what is righteous and ultimately good. For the people who can’t. For the regular people who have regular jobs and homes and families and adopted cats.” 

Steve’s fingers itch in want to touch. He leans back against the counter, holding himself there. 

“Lines get blurry sometimes but… I think about Becca and Bullet and Lucky if I lose my line of sight.” 

Bullet makes his way over, right on cue, immediately pawing at Steve’s foot. 

“You can think about Bullet and Lucky, you know, if you… Need something to focus on.” 

“Yeah. Sure thing.” 

“Or… I don’t know… Grampa James or something equivalent in importance.” 

Steve centers on Bucky’s face. The tone of Bucky’s voice has Steve staring into those familiar grey eyes. Steve thinks he understands what Bucky is trying to say. He also doesn’t want Bucky to compare himself to his grandfather, to Steve’s best friend, because they are here now. At this moment, Steve is alive, his vision filled with Bucky, studying the lines of his face, at the one strand of hair that curls, the dimple of his chin. And he feels so alive. His heartbeats fill his ears.  _Yes, t_ _here it is_ _,_  Steve thinks, a reason to keep using the shield, to put on his suit. 

“You’re a good man, Buck.” 

Bucky’s cheeks turn a shade darker. 

Steve wants to tell him more, but Bucky stammers out something about packing, and going to sleep, leaving Steve in the kitchen. 

   

\---  

   

The morning is warm with heavy sunlight streaming down on him through the open windows. It’s stuffy in the room. Steve struggles to open his eyes. In the tangled sheets and the curve Steve’s body has made, Bullet and Lucky are tucked into two small balls of furry cats, one black and one grey with spots of white. They make small purrs as they sleep. Steve tries to untangle himself from the sheets without waking them, but decides he’ll stay in bed as long as he needs to. He notices a folded piece of paper on the nightstand. He reaches over the cats. 

Bucky’s handwriting is straight and neat. He writes that he’s leaving before the sun rises, and if Steve could watch Bullet and Lucky for a while because he’s got a mission. Bucky says he’ll call when he can. Bucky says to call him if he needs to, having written down his cellphone number and a list of treats and toys Bullet and Lucky each like. Bucky says there’s food in the refrigerator for him, and instructions on how to heat up the food. 

The cats wake up eventually, leaving Steve on the bed to go about their cat things. It is quiet in the small house. Steve thinks he can maybe hear the waves but it may be just his imagination. Bullet attacks his foot with glee as Lucky watches him warily from his favorite spot under the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My cat's name is Bulletproof and my puppup's name is Lucky. Lucky thinks he's a cat.  
> And I named them after Radiohead songs. ;P
> 
> Montauk is beautiful and desolate off-season. I recommend winter Montauk weekend, as a good short getaway, even though there's nothing much to do. (3 hour non-stop drive from Brooklyn) If you like rocky beaches, roadkill, no coffee-shops, and bad cellphone service. (because I do?)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *edited*

**Bucky:**  I’m doing good. Tell Bullet and Lucky I miss them. Is Lucky behaving?   
 **Steve:** _.jpg attachment_  
 **Steve:** They’re fluffy for winter. :)   
 **Bucky:** They’re chubbed up! You’re feeding them too much. :(   
 **Steve:** I can’t help it. They make that face.   
 **Steve:** _.jpg attachment_  
 **Bucky:** Who am I kidding. They need another treat. 

   

Steve puts the phone down with a smile. He picks up the book he’s been trying to finish for the past two weeks. He might as well give up. He tosses the paperback on the coffee table and frowns. 

Steve has settled into his new apartment in DC. He’s got a nice couch, and furniture in a dark blue motif. Natasha had shown up with a record player and a bottle of wine to make herself at home, zeroing in on the cats. Steve had been close to tears, playing each of the records in his box of things that the museum and Stark Foundation have been ‘preserving’. Natasha had asked if Steve danced, shook his head and declined her offer. Natasha had also given him his new phone, winking to him that it’s the latest Stark phone. He’d learned to program Bucky’s number into it, sending him a rather lame text message.  _‘_ _Hello, Bucky_ _._ _This is Steve Rogers.’_  Natasha had taught him how to take and send pictures. Steve had taken a photo of Bullet and Lucky, following Natasha’s instructions to send a group text to the Avengers. It had taken a few days to get used to the speed of incoming messages from Tony and Nat, but he enjoyed them. Steve has had aches in his chest and stomach, checking his phone by the hour, jumping at each noise it made, waiting for Bucky to reply to his first message.  

The other Avengers, minus Thor, sends him messages and emails constantly. 

Tony likes to send memes and links to videos of cats and jokes about Captain America. Steve has learned to stop blushing at the gif images about his tight uniform. 

Bruce emails him articles on various subject matters, and Steve likes to write him thoughtful excerpt about each, extending conversation. When Tony learns of this, he demands to be included. 

Natasha updates him on SHIELD things, teaching him about emoji’s and the new way of talking and expressing various emotions using punctuation marks. But Natasha is in DC, so she mostly texts him about dinner reservations and what wine to buy for their planned dinners. When Tony learns of their weekly dinner ritual, he flies in to DC in his Iron Man suit to join them. 

Clint texts him photos of landscapes from a bird’s eye-view vantage point, more often in planes than anywhere else, of exquisite places and cities. Steve prints them out and starts a collage, researching and writing notes about them, wanting to visit one day. Tony does not get to learn about his collages. 

Bucky answers his text two months later.  

 **Bucky:**  Hey Steve. I just got back to New York. How are the cats? 

Steve has never smiled so brightly in his life, heart hammering inside his ribs. 

   

There’s his apartment, and there’s a new job, being part of SHIELD, leading different teams on missions that requires Captain America. And there aren’t too much of that. So, it’s mostly going in and out of the new SHIELD building in DC. He sometimes trains with teams, either in a SHIELD facility or a camping trip. Steve enjoys the outdoors, the crispy mountain air, even though it’s only West Virginia, and the teamwork he gets to instill in to the agents. He does not have clearance to access information on Agent James Barnes, not that he’s tried. Most of the time, there really isn’t much to do and the world clearly does not need Captain America. 

Steve does end up traveling. The United States reinstates him as a citizen and ‘alive’. He finally gets a passport and a driver’s license. Steve finds out the old-fashioned way about where Peggy is; by making a few polite phone calls. She doesn’t remember him at first, but when she does, it’s emotional. Steve is afraid he’ll crush her tiny fragile body, but she embraces him harder. Steve flies to California and meets Gabe and Dum Dum. They are still sturdy, making jokes on Steve’s account. Steve tries very hard to not tear up but he does. They tell him about Morita, Falsworth and Dernier, about James. Steve tells them about meeting Bucky. Gabe laughs, recalling the tiny baby and then the toddler with round cheeks, and ‘the biggest eyes you ever saw’, running around, happy and full of laughter. Steve knows that he would have been a part of this, if he got to go home with the rest of the Commandos, but he shakes his head from these thoughts. 

Steve travels to New York often. He visits with Bruce and Tony, meeting Pepper. He drives through the streets of Brooklyn. He visits Hal’s and orders a pastrami sandwich at Dottie’s. He has a hard time finishing the sandwich, breathing through the memories that come with it, biting back the choking tears. He sends a photo of half-eaten pastrami sandwich to Bucky. 

Bucky sends him a photo of SHIELD rations that doesn’t look very appealing. 

Steve goes on missions. Sometimes it’s with Clint, which are mostly recon and not very fun. There’s missions with Nat, which have more action, chasing the bad guys mostly, but no world-ending disasters. Steve suspects they send him out on these missions just to assure him that he is still a part of the team, that he’s needed, but Steve can’t help but be bored on these trips.  

He wonders what sort of missions Bucky is on, patting Bullet over the head, scratching behind the ears. Lucky studies him, alert, wanting the same attention but refusing to get closer. 

Another summer comes. 

The Smithsonian opens an exhibition on him, on Captain America, on his ninety-fifth birthday. He keeps quiet about feeling like he’s only twenty-eight. It’s a huge opening, with celebrities and politicians and a sea of photographers and Tony Stark. Steve feels awkward in a tuxedo. He does not break down in front of the huge photograph of him and James. That part of his story is over, now, and he doesn’t have to wonder. Yes, they all moved on with their lives, lived in a world without him, but he’s here now, and he’s got something good going; a future. Steve sneaks out of the party and goes home. He takes Bullet and Lucky to the roof to watch the fireworks.  

He takes a video and sends it to Bucky. 

 **Bucky:** Happy Birthday, Steve. 

   

\---  

  

Bucky swears there’s a sharp rock under his lower back. He shifts around, rolling on his side. It’s still there. He tries the other side. It’s still there. He wants to sleep at least an hour before it’s his three-hour watch shift. He has an hour left. He tries sleeping on his stomach. It’s still there. 

It’s been three weeks since Steve’s sent him a text message. 

 **Steve:** It’s so hot in DC. I took them to the shop for a nice haircut!   
 **Steve:** _.jpg attachment_

Bullet and Lucky look ridiculous. Their furs have been shaved close, except the faces, paws and tails. Bucky had almost broken out in laughter but contained himself. And he’d been sitting on replying for the past six hours. He’d wanted to say how cute they looked or make a snarky remark for Steve. But he’d decided on that last night in Montauk that he would keep his distance. Because one is not supposed to have sexy thoughts about Captain America. Or Steve Rogers. 

One, for some reason, all of Steve’s shirts are really tight, like he got all the wrong sizes and just didn’t bother to exchange them. They don’t hide any definition of the man’s physique and the images torture Bucky. And Bucky had had to constantly avert his eyes to avoid that. It’s stuck in his head now though, like he can map out the man’s amazing body. He doesn’t want to have those visions or like them. Two, Steve Rogers is an adorable puppy. He texts Bucky nice things and updates him on Bullet and Lucky. He writes formal sentences in his texts and that kills Bucky every time. Steve sends him pictures from his trips to California and New York. Bucky thinks each time he opens his messages that he really needs to keep his distance, don’t reply right away, if at all. That doesn’t thwart Steve, who tells Bucky that the cats are safe and healthy when he returns home, with a photo attachment. 

The rock digs into his side, and Bucky gives up trying to sleep. He throws on his coat and fixes the laces on his boots. He arms himself with his rifle and pistol, and other weapons on his body, mentally checking off the list of things on his person at all times when he’s on a mission. He glances at the time. His watch shows him that it’s the Fourth of July. 

His phone pings from his pocket. He thinks it may be Steve. After a deep breath, he opens up the message. 

 **Natasha:**   _.jpg attachment  
_ **Natasha:** Smithsonian opened the exhibition about Steve. Here he is in front of a photo of him and Grampa James during the war.   
 **Bucky:** Wow. How is it?   
 **Natasha:** Delicious. They hire the best caterers.   
 **Bucky:**   _the bird emoji_    
 **Natasha:** Steve looks delicious too. I could just eat him up.  _cat emoji_  

Bucky doesn’t know how to reply to that. 

 **Natasha:**  Vicki in HR asked me to introd. Should I? 

Bucky thinks through every SHIELD persons he knows, trying to remember if he knows a Vicki. Short, dark brown hair and pretty violet eyes. Pass. 

 **Bucky:** You know all the HR ppl like to analyze and judge. I say pass   
 **Natasha:** Boo. No fun. Gotta go. Dr. Stephen just arrived.  _heart-eyed cat emoji_  

Bucky takes his shift early, relieving Delta-7. Bucky takes a slow walk around their campsite, keeping to the shadows. 

He doesn’t know what it is about Steve that lingers in his mind. He can actualize that he is interested in the guy because of he is Grampa James’ best friend in the world, before they’d become war heroes. But that isn’t the whole truth. Grampa James passed away in sleep when he’d been seven years old. He has memories of holding Grampa James’ hand when they’d taken a trip to DC to meet the then President and his friends from the war, all receiving medals for their services. Other memories of Grampa James are more domestic, like taking strolls around the neighborhood, Grampa James buying him and Becca candies at the corner shop before dinner, smiling widely at them, or watching baseball games on television. Bucky doesn’t remember Grampa James talking about Steve Rogers, mostly avoiding the topic. Bucky thinks maybe it’d been painful for Grampa James. And so, even though the people in his own life constantly reminded him that Captain America should have been important and influential to his personal life, he hadn’t been. Neither had Steve Rogers. 

He’s just met the guy. The guy when he’s in that ridiculous uniform, reminds him of the conflicts of growing up in the shadows of someone he’s never met, or someone who’d fought in his shadow, and didn’t get recognized for his sacrifices and services until just a few months before his death. 

Bucky studies the patch of darkness at his two, careful eyes watching for a movement he thinks he saw. After a full minute, he crouches down, never taking his eyes off of the deep darkness. 

The thing is, Steve Rogers is just not a man he should be fantasizing about. And Bucky keeps thinking about him. Steve Rogers is a distraction. Steve Rogers is just a guy who’s trying to make it in this world, one step at a time, from moment to moment, just like everyone else. Steve Rogers has a beautiful smile when it’s genuine, like when Bullet tries his sneak attack on him or Lucky curls in on himself, ears flat and steady gaze on his new prey. He’s got these sad thoughts and a straightforward way he sees the world that has changed so much around him, he doesn’t have anything left to fight for. He thinks he doesn’t have anything to fight for. So, he’d left his cats with the guy, all those months ago, instead of dropping them off at Becca’s or Nat’s. 

There is nothing in the shadows so Bucky stands silently and moves on. He circles back to the campsite, exchanging words with Delta-3. In a few days, this mission is going to be over and he can go home. He’ll have access to an actual shower and his firm mattress and pillows. Clothes that smell clean and light and fifteen pounds less equipment on his body. 

His phone pings quietly. Bucky risks it, opening up the message. It’s a video of fireworks show from a flat, high rooftop. His cats are perched on the bench, watching the night sky. The volume is low but he can hear Steve’s laughter, filming the fascinated cats and the fantastic display in the air above. Lights burst in the black sky, in splashes of various flares, in red, white, and other colors. Awe aspiring and patriotic, loud, but so calming and majestic. It fills him with satisfaction as big as the sky, in those flowing and falling colors. It would be bigger, if he were sitting beside Steve. Bucky wonders how much bigger, and shivers at the thought. 

He’ll go get his cats and see Steve and… Figure out this longing in the back of his mind. Maybe make some food. His thought briefly questions what Steve cooks for himself. 

 **Bucky:**  Happy Birthday, Steve. 

It’s simple. 

 **Steve:** Thanks, Bucky. I wish you were here to see this, too. 

Even after walking ten minutes, Bucky can’t get rid of the thought. So, he answers. 

 **Bucky:** I do, too. 

   

\---  

   

It’s a hot September morning. Steve has his windows open. The neighborhood is loud in the early morning, the sounds of children heading out to school and adults rushing to get to work filling the air. Steve tries to sleep in but he is restless. Besides, Bullet and Lucky emanate extra heat, purring deeply in their sleep. Steve gets up out of bed, contemplating on putting on a shirt or not. He decides not to, heading to the kitchen with the idea of making some coffee. He dumps coffee in the filter and hits the button. Yawning and stretching out the sleep from his body, Steve goes back and forth in the apartment, picking up used mugs and plates from various surfaces, refilling the cats’ food and water dishes. 

The coffee has just finished when he sets the last mug on the drying rack. Steve relishes in hand-washing dishes, taking his time, whistling a tune to himself. The day is getting warmer, but Steve still doesn’t like air conditioning. He likes the smell of summer air, the light breeze. He enjoys the fan blowing over his legs, the cats curling around his ankles to feel the extra wind. He gets an idea for iced coffee, though, adding sugar and milk into the dark liquid, and adding cube after cube of ice. Before he can take a sip, the door buzzes. 

Steve wonders if it’s Natasha. But she always texts him. Tony never visits his apartment, calling him out to somewhere extravagant. He pushes the intercom button. 

“Who is it?” 

“Hi. It’s… James.” 

Steve’s brain fizzes bright colors, as he fumbles to buzz him in. He unlocks the door and swings it open. He listens to the footsteps coming up the stairwell, getting louder, crisper. His skin prickles in excitement. It’s been almost a year. It’s Bucky, coming up, walking up to his door. 

“Hi, Bucky.” 

“Hey.” 

Bucky smiles up at him, tired. His hair is up in a messy bun, lower half of his face covered in thick beard. He’s still got his tactical vest on. Steve invites him inside with a gesture of his hand. Bucky hesitates for a moment, eyes sweeping Steve from head to toe. That’s when Steve realizes that he’s only wearing his boxers. 

“Oh, shoot. I’m going to get dressed. Welcome, Bucky.” 

“Steve…” 

“Just a sec, Buck.” Steve tries to rush into his bedroom for some clothes but Bucky’s hand restrains his wrist. 

“Steve. I’m just here to pick up the cats. I’m going to leave in a minute.” 

Bucky loosens his grip. 

“Oh. You won’t… I’ve just made coffee. You can stay for a cup, can’t you?” 

“I double parked.” 

“Oh. Um… Okay. Let me…” 

The insides of his chest twist around like what his various heart conditions or asthma attacks had felt like, but worse, making his body tingle unpleasantly. Steve opens the coat closet for the cat carrier he’d brought them home in. 

“They’re in… my room.” 

Before Steve can get them, they’re already trotting up to Bucky. Lucky looks happy, rubbing his forehead against Bucky’s outstretched fingers. 

“Hey, cats.” Bucky scratches and pats them. 

“Let me pack up their stuff,” Steve says, gulping down the pain inside. 

“Nah. Becca’s got plenty of cat food and toys there. I’ve got to go.” 

Bullet and Lucky climb into the carrier without fuss. There are questions Steve needs to ask and there are conversations he wants to have with Bucky but he’s already heading out the door. Bucky turns his head. Steve notes sadly, Bucky is chewing on his bottom lip. 

“Thanks for watching out for them,” Bucky starts. “The mission took… Longer than I want to even think about. I’m just tired, and I want to go home and sleep. I’ll text you, okay?” 

“Yeah. Of course.” 

“Really. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

Steve closes the door behind Bucky. His legs tremble, knees threatening to give up. Yes. Any minute now, it feels like Bullet will come, rubbing his head against his ankle, paws punching at his toes. Lucky sneaking up to his favorite corner, watching the human with careful eyes. But there is nothing. Except… 

The door opens. 

Steve stands stock-still as Bucky wraps his arms around Steve’s shoulders. He breathes softly against his neck. Steve squeezes his eyes shut. Bucky feels solid and hard against his body. The material of his jacket is stiff and grainy. Steve’s hands hold Bucky at his waist. They stand still for a solid minute, breathing each other in. Bucky pulls away first. Steve reluctantly takes his hands away. Bucky does not. His palms are over his neck, thumbs caressing the curve of his jaws. 

“I… I have to go but… I’ll come back soon. I… am just so fucking tired. I don’t even know why…” 

Then Bucky smiles small, looking up at Steve through his lashes. Steve can feel his body leaning closer. It would be so easy to… 

Bucky lets out a deep sigh. 

“I’ll come back in three days, Steve. I’m… really double parked… and…” 

“Yeah,” Steve breathes out. “Yeah. Okay. You should go.” 

“I’ll call you.” 

Bucky steps back, fingertips lingering on Steve’s skin for a moment longer. He turns with a final secret smile, picking up the cat carrier and hurries down the staircase. Steve is standing at the open door, leaning against the frame, listening to the steps fade and the faintest sound of the front door opening and shutting. He stands there until the jittery nerves of his body calm down. He shuts the door when he can’t hear his heart hammering anymore. 

For a single moment, Steve wonders how Bucky knew where he lives. 

He smiles, nonetheless, shuffling into the warm kitchen. He chugs the coffee he’s left on the counter, ignoring the melted ice. Steve considers going on a run. He feels like he could run around the Earth right now. 

  

\---  

   

If there is something Steve is really good at is bottling up his emotions and everything else until he has something to punch or kick or smash with his shield. It’s been nineteen days and he’s not heard anything from Bucky. He goes to run. The colors of the leaves are changing. But Steve has his shorts and SHIELD tee shirt. Steve loves the new running shoes and shorts that keep his junk where it should be as he runs through the park. Tony had introduced him to them, saying something about endorsements or something. Steve had shrugged. But he loves the new kit. He runs the first three miles easily. It’s too early in the morning for anyone to be out. After jogging through the final mile to cool down, Steve sees other joggers start their morning workout. There’s a man in an Air Force sweatshirt. Steve catches his eyes, and ducks and runs towards his apartment. 

He grabs some decent clothes and takes his bike into the SHIELD building, letting the breeze cool him down. He has access to some gym equipment reinforced for his strength to abuse for an hour and takes a quick shower to wash away all the sweat. There’s always food in the cafeterias. Steve piles on food on his tray and sits by the window. After a forkful of the salad stuff, he feels all the endorphins fade away. Every time he eats, he has a moment about Bucky. Steve checks his phone. 

 **Natasha:**  where are you?   
 **Steve:**  Eating in the west cafeteria. 

And there are no other messages. Natasha shows up ten minutes later with a large cup of coffee in her hand. She smiles at him. Steve grimaces around the bite of sausage thing. He chews quickly and finishes off the rest, chasing down the taste with coffee. He hates how much he has to eat to keep up with the range of calories his body burns. It makes him miserable sometimes. And cranky. 

Natasha pushes a file towards him. Even with all the technological jargon Steve has to live through on a daily basis, classified still is hand written or typed on paper. Steve opens it up. 

There are foreign locations marked on a black and white map. It is South America and parts of South Asia. There is a list of names and photos next to each. 

“Potential merchants and clients who might have Loki’s staff in possession.” 

Steve flips through each file. 

“Delta team caught a big time illegal arms dealer who was selling off stolen Chitauri weapons.” 

Steve might just be imagining it but Nat’s eyes goes softer at the mention of Delta team. 

“And they supplied this list?” 

“Yep.” She sips her coffee, makes a face at it but keeps drinking it. 

“Are we…” Steve can’t finish his hopeful question. 

“You and I on recon. Just intelligence gathering.” 

“I’m not a spy.” 

“Yes. But if they have the staff or if they have Chitauri weapons, then I need you. And we can’t exactly travel with a big team on this.” 

Steve concedes. Natasha doesn’t strike him as the type who would work with just anyone. She also doesn’t follow everyone’s orders, weighing her morals and consciousness. She could have chosen Clint but she is asking Steve. Steve actually feels good about this. He won’t have to sit around at home or in a cubicle at SHIELD waiting for something to happen.  

“Cool.” Nat smirks up at him. “We’re going shopping.” 

Steve abandons the rest of his food. He hates being so wasteful but Natasha reassures him there is a good recycling system. She tosses her coffee, swearing in Russian. Steve is stuffed inside Nat’s small sports car. She drives maniacally, but the first place she stops at is a café. She gets a large hot tea, delighting in the taste. She orders a couple of sandwiches and pastries and a latte for Steve. They sit around a tiny table under the awning. Nat stretches in the warm sunlight like a cat; like Bullet. They split the food. Steve loves the chicken salad with cranberries in them. Nat takes a big bite of hers and hands him the rest of her half. 

Steve imagines if he had a sister, she would be like Nat. Their relationship would be easy like this, mostly wordless, sharing food and a few hours. He enjoys each time he gets to share with Nat. 

“What are we shopping for?” 

“We need to look more civilian. Our new suits and uniforms are ready but for this mission, we need to be more incognito. So, I thought, hats, sunglasses, and backpacks to look like we’re some American students traveling through.” 

“Okay.” 

“Our gear is all ready for us to pick up in Germany, but we’re going to take civilian flights.” 

“Do I get a passport?” 

“Of course.” Nat smirks. She pushes an envelope towards him. Sure enough, there is a passport, a driver’s license and a college student ID. They all say Steve is twenty-eight. Which is… The age he feels like he is. “They are all very real. Just so you don’t feel like you’re breaking the law or anything.” 

“Thanks.” 

Steve feels his eyes burn, tears welling up for no reason. For all that talk and jest about being ninety-five, he doesn’t actually ever feel that way, so it means something that Nat’s noticed. He blinks the extra moisture away, hiding behind his cup of coffee. 

“This will take a while.” 

“That’s okay.” 

“Yeah. You’ll have no problems, Steve. It’s all going to be okay.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brooklyn and sandwiches - there's an entire section that didn't make the cut in chapter 2... and a paragraph about Bucky telling Steve about some places that Grampa James had liked that are still open for business, and Steve gets emotional. It didn't move the story along so it was cut but this part remained here... :/
> 
> Double parking - if you're not familiar with this term... is when someone parks illegally on the street parallel to other parked cars, messing up traffic flow and all sorts of nonsense. it happens frequently in my neighborhood, nay, the entire city.
> 
> Steve cat-sitting for a good part of the year while Bucky went chasing after bad guys xD  
> He got other stuff done, too.
> 
> Nat told Bucky where Steve lives. Easy enough. Or Bucky has a higher clearance in SHIELD so he can look up info on Stevie. :P
> 
> Tony Stark. xD


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Beautiful Artwork!](http://thisfanisonfire.tumblr.com/post/164309215273/art-pieces-for-the-fic-red-white-those-other) \- Check check check it out!

Bucky punches down his alarm clock, turning to bury his head under his pillow.  But he’s awake now.  After turning over several times, making the sheet and blanket twist around his legs and body, he opens his eyes.  The air smells like salt.  The shower water still has a tinge of salt in it, even with all the advanced filtering, and it feels like he never gets clean after showering.  He’d been assigned on a SHIELD mission, a long trip aboard the large vessel.  There’s not much he can do, as the ship sails back and forth in neutral waters.  His team is on primary defense, but no one is going to attack a SHIELD ship.  Still, he’d rather be back on the mission to locate stolen alien weapons but that’s been reassigned. 

Reassigned to the Black Widow and Captain America. 

Bucky scrubs his face hard.  He’d really meant it when he said he’d see Steve again.  But he’s got a job to do and he has to protect the world.  He can’t throw away his job and responsibilities for a few hours with Steve Rogers. 

He wishes he could, but he can’t. 

He checks the logs as he chomps down on breakfast.  Some of his team members join him.  There’s always some comment about the food, but they’re all used to it by now.  They’re not starved and that’s about as good as they’ll get. 

Steve’s solid weight against his chest.  Steve’s scent along his neck and his hair, still sleep mused and warm.  Steve’s hands over his waist, even over the heavy tac vest, was strong and hard. 

Bucky shakes himself.  He shouldn’t still be thinking about that. 

Nat doesn’t risk contact with him or anyone else during missions.  So, he doesn’t know what they’re up to, or even where.  That is for higher ups to worry about.  He’s got this thing. 

Conversation with his teammates carry them to the control room.  There’s an officer aboard but Bucky is ranked high enough to have access to almost everything.  The ship’s mission is to test out the new launch system for new Helicarriers SHIELD is currently building.  Bucky talks to the few programmers as they test out a newly completed sequence. 

Bucky can’t help zoning out a little.  And his mind always finds its way back to Steve Rogers and how much he wants to see him. 

But he can’t like Steve Rogers in  _that_  way.  He just can’t.  But his mind and his eyes and even his heart all say otherwise.  He wants to see him, spend the evening eating dinner together, discussing about current events, or remain quiet, like at the beach house.  Even though it had been a few days, Bucky hadn’t felt so relaxed.  And they’d kept in contact, mostly talking about the cats but…  It had felt like Steve meant more by the things he said.  And seeing him again, even after almost a year apart…  He couldn’t help but put the cats down, open the door and practically run towards the man, just to spend one more minute with him.  Bucky had never done anything like that before.  Never a moment of spontaneity, like rushing back to throw his arms around Steve Rogers. 

And nothing had felt so right before in his whole life. 

Bucky shakes his head. 

“Agent Barnes?”  An operative calls him. 

“Yes?” 

“I said, we need your authorization to initiate this sequence.” 

“Oh.  Yeah, of course.” 

Bucky punches in the codes and his fingerprints over his control screen. 

On the main screen, the sequence starts up, lining up with the satellite hovering somewhere over them beyond the Earth’s atmosphere.  It runs the test, and in five minutes, there are dotted targets identified on the screen.  Close to a million in the satellite’s hundred-mile radius. 

“Why are they targets?” Bucky asks the operative. 

“Potential terrorists, anyone who’s a threat.” 

“How does it know that?  They could be normal people.” 

“The algorithm.  It finds patterns in an individual’s life and assesses potential threats.” 

“What algorithm?” 

The operative looks at him, eyes momentarily wide and mouth gaped, and then to the officer up ahead. 

“This is just a test, Agent Barnes.  We want to make sure the targeting system has no errors.  That’s why we’re here.”  The operative smiles at him.  It unnerves Bucky. 

He punches at his screen for the algorithm.  _Access Denied_ , the red letters blink at him. 

Bucky doesn’t excuse himself to anyone, heading out of the control room.  There is something wrong with this.  He takes out his phone, dialing a phone number. 

“This is Hill.” 

“Agent Barnes.” 

“What can I do for you, Agent?”  Hill sounds like she’s barely awake. 

“What do you know about the launch system on the Lumerian Star?”  He speaks in a sharp whisper, briskly stepping out on to the deck.  It’s night.  The wide waters are still and dark, deep, inky and endless.  The crashing waves against the ships sides are loud in the silence. 

“It’s the launch sequence for the new Insight Helicarriers.” 

“Have you heard anything about an algorithm?” 

“What algorithm?” 

“One of the programmers asked me for authorization to test out this new sequence.  It found a million human targets within five minutes.  She said, _potential threats_.  It’s an algorithm that can predict future threats.”  Bucky huffs.  He leans against the railing, letting the wind ruffle his hair. 

“I’ll contact Fury on this.” 

“Yeah.  You might want to hurry.” 

    

\---    

    

Each new location they reach leads to nowhere.  Abandoned warehouses.  Or a room full of dead people.  One particular place makes Steve sick to his stomach.  Bodies all twisted and torn apart inside glass cages, caked blood and tissue under the nails of the victims; they’d clawed their own bodies to death.  Or something worse.  The alien technology is not something for humans.   

Steve lets out a deep sigh, leaning back into the small metal chair he’s occupying. 

Nat’s dyed her hair dark for this mission.  It makes her look younger.  She has her body armor underneath her disguise.  Steve does as well, because Nat had insisted. 

The mission seems like a waste of time.  Each new place they cross off the short list leads to nowhere, no new intel, destroyed hard drives, and no one alive to talk. 

“Most likely they got a warning from the weapons dealer.”  Nat says over her mug. 

Steve agrees silently.  He scratches his face.  The beard is also Nat’s idea.  Steve’s never liked facial hair.  It itches too much.  He checks his personal phone.  There’s a message from Tony about a successful upgrade to his Ironman suits.  Also, a new land acquirement in upstate New York.  Steve answers him back.  Nat looks at him with distant interest. 

“I should call this in.  I have a feeling that the next three places will be the same.” 

“Yeah,” Steve answers.  They’ll get to go home.  He’ll get to shave the beard. 

Nat speaks into her phone for a few minutes.  She confirms and writes down the information for a flight out of eastern Europe.  It’s beautiful and somber here.  Steve likes and hates it at the same time.  Some things remind him of the war.  Some things remind him of the good fight that’s still occurring in the world.  Some things remind him of the good things, wonderful things and he can smile at the positive outlook on life.  Some things remind him of the cats.  More than a few things remind him of Bucky. 

Bucky still hasn’t called or texted, hasn’t updated him on the cats. 

“So, we’re officially completed our mission.  They’re going to send other agents to the remaining locations.  Now we’re just… Tourists.” 

“Sounds good.” 

Nat combs out some hair out of her face. 

“Now that we’re off the clock, can I ask you something?” 

“Sure.” 

“Something personal?” 

Steve manages to smile.  “Yes, of course you can.” 

“We’ve been through a lot.” 

Steve draws through the ring of condensation over the coffee table. 

“And… We’re friends.”  It doesn’t sound like a question but it is. 

“Yes. One of few.” 

Nat finishes off her tea, not looking at Steve’s face. She takes an uncharacteristic deep breath before she talks again. “Bucky and I are close. When I defected from Russia, from Red Room and the KGB, only Clint and Bucky were willing to give me a chance to prove myself. Even Director Fury had his reservations for the longest time. Clint is like family. Bucky is…  precious to me.” 

Steve nods. Nat is deliberately calling him Bucky, not James. Steve understands she wants to make a point. 

“More than family.” 

“I understand.” 

“No, you don’t.” 

Her tone makes him look into her brilliant green eyes. 

“We love each other intensely but not in that way. We never will. I… won’t, ever. I can’t.” 

Nat’s eyes are brimmed with tears. She rapidly blinks them away. 

“Can I tell you something about Bucky?” 

Steve remains silent. It feels right. 

“Everyone Bucky’s dated, he just, keeps them at an arm’s length. He thinks all the relationships are temporary or that they’ll fail in the future or that they only want a certain aspect of him. He doesn’t show them who he really is. I know most of him, not all.” 

“He doesn’t want to be hurt?” 

“I think it’s a little more complicated than that but yeah.” 

Steve is wondering what has earned him this conversation. 

“He doesn’t mean to hurt you or keep away from you. It’s just how he is.” 

“I wouldn’t keep him from his job. I know he likes it.” 

Nat fiddles with the handle of her teaspoon. She flags down the waiter for another mug of hot tea and orders food. 

“I don’t think anyone else has had an impact in his life like you.” 

Steve chuckles. “In more ways than one?” 

“Yeah. You’re a sturdy guy. You can take a few beatings, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“It’s okay, you know.” 

“What’s okay?” 

“Bucky.” 

Their food arrives. Steve doesn’t want to eat. His heart hammers. 

“I’ll give him a call when we return home.” 

“Good idea.” 

Steve strums his fingers over the tabletop. 

“Is this your ‘big sibling talk’?” 

Nat laughs loudly at this. 

Steve’s phone dings. He unlocks the screen nervously. 

Tony lets him know about modifications he has made to Steve’s uniform. The winking emojis are disconcerting. 

    

\---   

    

Bucky curses the world when he finally wakes up. He can’t open his eyes. The left one opens a slit. There’s light. Bucky curses some more, this time loud and obnoxiously. The men speak in French and Bucky can’t understand a word, other than 'SHIELD'. One of the men crouches in front of him. 

“You can contact SHIELD, yes?” The man says with heavy accent. The annoying ringing in his ears are starting to fade, and Bucky can focus on the man speaking to him. 

“What makes you think I will?” Bucky retorts. He can definitely taste the blood in this throat. 

“Three of my men to beat you down. You will contact SHIELD or we kill you.” 

“Fuck. You.” Bucky spits the blood. He hopes it landed on the mercenary kneeling in front of him. 

“Okay,” the man smirks. “We kill them first.” 

Bucky groans internally. He’s only had training for hostage situations. He’s never been one. The butt of the man’s rifle presses hard against his shoulder. It feels dislocated or heavily bruised. It fucking hurts. Bucky bites down and does not scream in pain. 

Another voice shouts to the man in front of him. 

“That one will contact SHIELD. You’re all so… weak. Except you. I like you. I will keep you until the end.” 

Bucky fights the cuffs over his wrists. His arms are twisted behind his back. His body aches. 

They’d been ambushed by mercenaries. It’s like they’d known which agents were on the ship. They had Bucky and his team flanked and disarmed within minutes. Even cuffed, Bucky had retaliated, head-butting the closest mercenary. He’d been beaten down and blacked out. And he wakes up to this ugly smug bastard making threats. Bucky is not happy. He struggles against the cuffs again to no avail. His eye opens just a bit more now. The puffiness is going down gradually. It hurts his eyeballs to try to move his head. He identifies his team, two unconscious, leaning against each other, and the rest are in bad shape. Bucky can imagine that he looks worse. And the worst part about this situation is that he is helpless. He can’t figure out how to get them out, how to get everyone to safety. Jaws clamp down tightly. There’s nothing he can do. 

A blast goes off and startles everyone. 

The mercenaries scream and go down, one by one. There’s gunshots and confusion for minutes. Shattered glass scatter around them. When the gunfire slows down, a pair of hands hoist him up on his feet. 

“Agent Barnes!” Bucky realizes the figure is calling out to him. Or maybe he’s talking into his radio. “We’ve found Agent Barnes and the rest of Delta Team.” 

His legs feel like noodles. At least his hands are freed. They make their way into a Quinjet. Bucky still has limited vision and it’s dark in here, but he goes to each of his team members, making sure they are okay. 

“Give me a phone.” Bucky orders. The agent in his full gear startles, searching glances over to other agents. Bucky shouts, “Give me a phone!” 

The satellite phone is heavy. He punches in Hill’s direct numbers, but stops before dialing. 

“James!” 

Bucky turns, almost dropping the phone. 

“Oh my god, James…” 

Natasha looks like she’s been in an explosion. Bucky is concerned by the way she holds her arm. But her face shows more shock than he feels. Oh, right… 

“Nat… I’m okay. Really.” 

But as soon as he gets the words out, he winces. Everything hurts. 

He lets Nat fuss over him, sitting where she tells him to, staying silent when she stabs him with a field sedative. He can even open both his eyes. 

“I didn’t do anything stupid,” Bucky comments. Nat roughly swabs antiseptic over a particular deep cut over his cheekbone. It’s the way she breathes harshly. The fighting couldn’t have been that bad. Unless… “You did, though.” 

At that, Nat subtly gestures over her shoulder. Bucky looks up. On the opposite side of the Quinjet, Steve sits with his arms crossed over the silver star on his chest. Bucky gulps. The uniform is dark and he’d missed Captain America entirely. Steve has his eyes shut, head leaning back. 

Bucky asks as quietly as he can, “Did I do something?” 

“No. It’s all me,” Nat supplies without any detail. It only takes a few seconds for Bucky to realize… 

“The launch sequences. The algorithm. You got them?” 

Nat’s nod is small. Bucky gives her a fleeting smile. 

“Good.” Her face falls again. Bucky knows what that means. She lets her expression fall like that, every time, after every secret spy mission that has her questioning the morals and the politics of those she works for. And she hates letting down the people she likes. Loves. Like Captain America. No. Steve Rogers. “Do you want to come over? We can watch bad romance comedies and eat ice cream and snuggle with the cats?” 

Nat’s eyes glisten briefly before she blinks them all away. 

“I’ve got to report to Fury as soon as we get back.” Nat chances a glance back. “But I can think of someone who might need that, more than I do.” 

Bucky shakes his head. 

“I’m too sore for… Point is… I’m…” 

“Try it. Not even the half way point. Just a step.” 

“But he’s…” 

“You boys.” Nat grins. She produces cherry-flavored chap-stick out of a pouch on her belt. After dabbing her lips with it, she offers it to Bucky. He declines. She says with deliverance, “There’s a very pretty nurse that lives across the hall from Steve. And from what I’ve been seeing, there’s some heavy yet awkward flirting going on there.” 

“Oh. I mean if he’s… Is she…” 

Nat sighs. “Seriously, James. Don’t let this one slip through your fingers. I like him. We need to keep him.” 

“Yeah. Everyone likes Captain America.” 

“No. I hate Captain America. I like Steve Rogers, though. A lot.” 

 

\---   

    

Steve wants to go punch things. He wants to practice the intricate art of shield tossing with Fury shaped dummies as targets. He huffs as he stomps into the elevator. Commanding the AI to take him down to the parking lot levels, he leans back against the glass. It stops three floors later. Steve wishes he had the clearance to bypass stopping for other passengers but he won’t actually ever use that. He can be angry at situations but he’s not really mad at Fury himself. He would never take his issues out on other people. Especially if they are unarmed… 

“Bucky… Hi…” 

Steve is stupefied. 

Bucky is black and blue, but after a few hours he looks less puffy. It might be the light. It might be that Steve’s spent too many hours at debriefing and arguing with Fury. Bucky is in a plain white tee shirt and black jeans, his SHIELD card hanging on a lanyard around his neck. His hair is pulled back into a bun, still damp looking. Bucky looks so exhausted. His hands dig deeper into his pockets. 

“Hey, Steve.” 

The elevator door shuts. Bucky tells the unit to take them down to the parking lot. 

The silence is so awkward and Steve wants to go back to seething rather than this. There’s no helpful interruptions of stopping at any of the floors either. 

Bucky clears his throat. Steve looks up at him. His shield feels heavy over his shoulder. 

“Steve… I… Thank you for…” Bucky hesitates. He is staring down at his worn sneakers. 

The awkward pause carries them all the way down to the parking lot. Steve hovers his hand at the door, waiting for Bucky to exit. Bucky huffs, scuffling out of the elevator box. Steve doesn’t know what to say or how to ask. Are you alright? How bad are your wounds? I’ve missed you…? 

“How are Bullet and Lucky?” Steve quickly asks Bucky. Bucky turns, eyes large and mouth slightly parted. Steve doesn’t miss the corner of his lips, turning up, and straightening back down. 

“They’re good.” Bucky says. His fingers card some fallen hair back, tucking a few strands behind his ear. He coughs, looking down again. “Do you… Would you like to see them?” 

Steve’s heart turns and he feels like he’s inside out. More than anything. I want to spend time with you. I want to hold you again, feel you against my body again. He answers urgently, “Yes. I would love you.” 

Bucky points to a beat-up black sedan with a dented side in the row of long-term parking. “That’s me. Unless you’ve got your bike? You can follow me, instead.” 

Steve does have his bike but he’d rather not drive right now. He then considers if Bucky is sobered enough to drive. He’s been getting shot up with painkillers ever since being picked up from the Lumerian Star. “I can leave it here. Can I… drive?” 

Bucky considers, fidgeting a little. He tosses Steve his keys. 

The drive is as silent as the elevator ride but Steve feels happy. Bucky points out streets to turn on and soon, they arrive in front of an apartment building, not too far from Steve’s. He says so, and Bucky hums in confirmation. “I’m not surprised. They put all of us around here.” 

Bucky means the SHIELD agents. Steve follows Bucky into the building, climbing the steps and to the top floor. Bucky tells him that Becca dropped the cats off in the morning when he texted her. She’s got a toddler and can only handle the cats for short amounts of time, even though she loves them. She has another baby on the way. So, she’s the last resort at cat-sitting, Bucky says. “Besides, I missed them.” 

The studio apartment is small and sparse. Kitchen in the corner, a small bathroom and a large space that contains a mattress on the floor. There are duffels on the floor around the mattress that holds clothes. Two laptops and notebooks are tangled among the sheets. As Steve takes in the space, the cats come, zeroing in on Bucky. He takes time to coo over them. Bullet recognizes Steve, rubbing his side and tail against Steve’s leg. 

“I don’t have a couch. I don’t have much here, actually.” 

“That’s okay, Bucky. I’ve lived on less and smaller.” 

Bucky checks his refrigerator. “Aw, Becs… She stocked up my fridge. Do you want something to drink, Steve?” 

“Sure.” 

Steve sits by the large window, letting his muscles relax under the afternoon sunlight beaming down on him. Bullet meows and settles over Steve’s lap, curling up under the warm summer sunlight. Lucky swishes his tail from Bucky’s pillow, studying Steve. Steve thinks maybe Lucky is happy to see him as well; he’s still shy or has his defenses up. It’s good, sitting under the sunlight, surrounded by the person and cats he cares a lot about. Yes. He cares a lot about Bucky. Bucky… He’s hovering a few feet from Steve’s outstretched legs, holding two glasses of orange juice. Steve lifts his hand to take the glass from him. Bucky hands one to him, and slowly lowers himself on his mattress. He groans miserably. 

As much as he wants to spend time with Bucky and the cats, Steve realizes that Bucky must be very tired. Very sore, too. 

“You must be tired, Bucky. I can… go…” 

“No. Actually… I would like for you to stay for a while. I don’t know. If you ain’t got nothing else to do.” 

“I don’t. I’d like to stay.” 

“Good…” 

Bucky sets his glass on the windowsill. He hesitates for a moment, then whispers ‘fuck it’ to himself and lays down on the mattress. It takes a few minutes for him to relax, digging out the laptops and notebooks from under him, tossing them to the side. 

“Tell me a story? Something?” Bucky requests, voice low and gravelly with fatigue. Lucky purrs from his place next to Bucky’s head. 

“I don’t have any story that you’ve not heard already.” 

Bucky hums. “Tell me about your mission?” 

Steve isn’t sure if he’s allowed but right at this moment, he doesn’t care if he’s breaking all the rules. 

“I like… I like your voice. And your accent. Reminds me of home.” Bucky says. 

Steve’s too hot all of a sudden. So, he shifts away from the light. His face must be red, too. 

“C’mere. Come closer. Here.” Bucky reaches out. Steve breathes deeply and crawls over, beside Bucky on the mattress. Bullet nests over Bucky’s chest. 

“I didn’t know that you were on the mission, to find the missing Chitauri weapons or the arms dealers who’d smuggled them. Mostly, I was here, training with SHIELD agents.” Steve starts. He watches Bucky’s fingers in Bullet’s fluffy black fur, twirling them, combing through with his fingertips. Steve tells Bucky about the training sessions, telling him a few anecdotes he’s managed to keep to himself about a few star-struck agents, the fun he’d had on trips to see his friends, about the places he’d seen, the long train rides. About Nat, Clint, Bruce and Tony, and the week Thor had come to visit and had drunk all of Tony’s coffee. And Tony’s got a lot of coffee. He talks about the Smithsonian, the interviews he’s given to a few art magazines and a photo session that Tony set up for him, that had gone terribly, embarrassingly bad. Bucky chuckles quietly as Steve describes the torn inseam just as he sat on a stool in front of the photographer and his crew. Torn is a nice way of putting it. It’s more like the trousers split in half by the inseam. So, had the shirt, the arms tearing straight off when he panicked. 

It’s good to listen to Bucky laughing. It’s more than good. It’s perfect. It’s so perfect that Steve doesn’t know how to proceed. All he can do right now is narrate amusing stories to Bucky, keeping his voice even, through the thundering beats of his own heart in his ears. Long after Bucky falls asleep, the light having turned deep orange, Steve brushes a thumb under his bruised eye. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thor+coffee  
> Steve+tight clothes
> 
> Where is my love Sam??!!


	6. Chapter 6

It’s all gone to shit. Fury is gone. Steve doesn’t hold back his punch, using the shield to knock down another agent trying to shock him. He doesn’t know who to trust. He hates the elevator. There’s scuffling beyond the doors. When Steve flings himself out of the glass elevator, freefalling, he briefly focuses on Bullet and Lucky, and even Bucky, and curls over his shield, hoping the metal will absorb some shock. It does, but if it were anyone else, Steve is sure they would have died or broken every bone. Steve only shakes it off, racing down to get his bike. 

Fury is gone and he can’t trust anyone. 

Steve does not hold back. Not if they’re attacking him with a jet. He takes it down, only briefly wondering if he should let the pilot perish with the jet. He growls from somewhere deep within, settling for taking down the turbines. He’ll avoid killing if he can. Not until he’s absolutely sure if they are the bad guys. 

He races through traffic to get to the hospital where Fury was. He needs to get the flash drive. He needs to get answers. 

Steve reacts quickly and dodges the arrow, skidding sideways with his bike over the asphalt. He pushes himself up, shield up just in time to stop the explosive arrow. Several agents surround him. He takes them out, one by one, punch by punch, dodging arrow left and right. Breathing hard, he studies the fallen agents and the arrows fallen all around him. 

“Hey, Cap,” Clint’s voice speaks into his earpiece. 

“Hawkeye.” 

“Don’t got much time. They’ll log into this frequency.” 

“What’s going on?” 

“Don’t know. I’m just following orders until I know more.” 

“Super-secret spy stuff?” 

Clint laughs. “Something like that. Do you trust me, Cap?” 

“Do I have a reason not to?” 

“I was shooting at you.” 

“You could have hit me if you were really trying.” 

“True.” Clint clicks his tongue in annoyance. He rasps out, “Lose the suit, Cap. They are tracking you.” 

Steve scowls. He should have known. Clint is gone. Steve rushes. He isn’t too far from his apartment. Steve grumbles when he gets home, almost tearing the uniform to get out of it. He pulls on some civilian clothes, and stashes the uniform with its tracker somewhere safe and public before heading towards the hospital. 

Nat is waiting for him there. 

    

\---   

    

Bucky winces at the state he is in, letting Steve and Natasha into his small apartment. He’d just come back from running himself into exhaustion. He is covered in sweat, shirt and shorts drenched after a run in the humid summer morning. Steve and Nat looks worse, soot and dirt all over. They look frightened. Bucky directs them to the bathroom, handing both some clean towels and clothes. After making sure Bullet and Lucky are fed, he fixes breakfast for them. Strong coffee and thick-sliced French Toast, the way Nat likes, because he’s not too sure about what Steve enjoys. But after a few sessions of small-talk about Army rations and places in Brooklyn, as well as the few days spent in Montauk, Bucky is sure Steve will like the homemade meal. He finishes pouring out coffee into three mugs when Nat emerges from the bathroom. Steve goes in to clean up, silent and emanating nervous energy. Steve hadn’t looked at him once, sitting on his unmade mattress, hand out and palm up for Bullet and reluctant Lucky to play. 

Nat fills him in after taking a seat. She usually prefers tea, fights Bucky on it all the time, but this morning, she sips at the hot liquid carefully. Her focus is off. Bucky doesn’t push, but rather let her work it all out. He is worried about the scratches and bruises on her. He doesn’t comment on them, pulling out his first-aid kit to slide over to her. 

Steve cleans up quickly. Bucky silently gulps at Steve in his clothes, too tight over his massive chest and stretching out the shoulders and sleeves to the fabric’s full extent. If Nat notices, she doesn’t make any subtle gestures when he glimpses at her. Bucky shakes himself off, offering a chair and mug to Steve. They eat slowly, if only to appreciate Bucky making food for them. Bucky doesn’t wait long to get them to speak. 

“What the fuck happened?” Bucky tries to hide any trace of malice in his voice. 

Nat studies Steve, who is still mauling over the events of the past twelve hours. She says, “SHIELD is HYDRA.” 

Bucky asks for clarification. Nat lays out the basics of what has happened. Bucky realizes the tight squeeze of his fingers, nails digging into his sweating palms and wills his fist to loosen. 

“Fury?” 

“MIA.” 

“Hill?” 

“No contact.” 

Steve’s voice is gravelly. “How do we know we can trust her? Fury?” 

“Do you trust  _me_ , Steve?” Nat asks. Her voice is light, but there’s seriousness and there’s challenge. 

“Yes.” Steve replies without hesitance. His chin lifts, eyes never leaving Nat’s. Nat smiles, enough that her small dimples show. 

“How can you be sure?” 

“I trust you and Bucky.” Steve’s blue eyes hit Bucky for a long, sincere moment. “I don’t have to trust you. But I know that I can. Just a feeling in my gut.” 

Nat’s eyebrow hikes up, unconvinced. 

Steve chuckles at that. 

“I’m shaken up, yeah. All of this… It’s happening really fast but…” Steve stares into Bucky’s eyes. His unwavering glare, so genuine and a little sad, stabs Bucky straight through the heart. He barely hears Steve over his heart pounding in his chest. “But I haven’t lost my line of sight. I know what it is I fight for. And I know whom I can depend on to have my six.” 

Bucky ducks his face, smiling widely to himself. 

Natasha’s phone rings then. Her eyes become brighter. She answers, “Hey, Maria.” 

    

\---   

    

As far as missions go, it could have gone a lot worse. Steve bites down hard, sitting up in the hospital bed. It is hard to breathe, and every muscle aches. He can’t feel his face and there’s an unpleasant taste of blood in his mouth. He wonders if there’s morphine in the drip, or if it’s even working. Maybe it’s all psychosomatic, the painkiller actually working in his hypermetabolic body. Maybe he’s injured enough, bruised enough and swollen enough that everything is just numb. Either way, Steve thinks morbidly, it’s a good feeling, to be able to feel this exhausted.  

He has to think very clearly to remember that they’d done it. Nat had gone undercover and accomplished releasing HYDRA files to the public with Fury. He and Bucky had successfully infiltrated the Insight Helicarriers, with Hill’s help. Except, what the fuck happened to land him in a hospital bed?  

“Hey, Captain.” 

Natasha’s familiar voice helps Steve to gain back balance. He lays back down in to the flat pillows. Maybe he can rest, just a little more. Even though he only has limited field of vision under his swollen eyelids, he can see that Nat has a sling for her arm, and deeper scratches and bruises. She’s in a tank top with her hair in a ponytail. Steve thinks he’s never seen her looking so vulnerable, all of her defenses down. So tired. 

“What happened?” He points at her arm. 

“Rumlow doesn’t hold back.” 

Steve starts to say something about that but stops, grimacing at the sharp pain at his side. 

“But the building came down on top of us, literally, along with one of the Helicarriers. So, I ran, with Fury, just in time for Hill to make some superhero moves with the chopper.” 

Steve breathes shallowly. 

“And Bucky?” 

“He’s in the next room.” 

“I want to…” 

“Only if you’ll submit to a wheelchair, grampa.” 

“I’ll take it.” 

Nat helps Steve settle into a wheelchair, fixing some of the machines and drips to go with Steve. It is slow, being pushed out the room to the next. Nat bites back that she only has one functioning arm and that Steve weighs twice as much as she does. She also adds quietly that she’s not supposed to do this, and she doesn’t want to jitter anything. Steve grunts his appreciation. 

Bucky is just as black and blue as Steve, lying still. The machines beep rhythmically to tell them that he’s alive. His left arm is in a temporary cast. Bandages cover his sides. Steve wishes he can bestow his quick-healing to Bucky. There’s harshness in each intake of his breath. 

“He’ll be okay.” 

“Why didn’t he…” Steve breathes back a sniffle. “I don’t remember.” 

“The third carrier… Bucky jumped onto it after you got shot. To get you out.” Steve looks down at his stomach. He indeed remembers a bullet to his back, going straight through his stomach. He had thought he would bleed out, but he had a mission to complete. “And after the targeting system went offline, someone must have hit a self-destruct. It was so quick. We all thought…” 

Nat sinks into the chair beside him. 

“Bucky pulled you out of the water. We found the two of you on the banks, passed out. It’s good that you have super-healing, or else you would have bled to death.” 

Steve doesn’t know what to say to that. 

“Stubborn asshole,” Bucky grumbles under the oxygen mask. “I said jump.” 

Steve moves forward, despite his body protesting, to grab at Bucky’s hand. Natasha pats Bucky’s shoulder, giving him a small kiss on temple. She adjusts Steve’s wheelchair before leaving the room. 

“Stubborn fuckin’ asshole.” Bucky says. 

“I ain’t denying it.” James had said the same to him several times during the war. “How do you feel?” 

“Like I got blown up and almost drowned?” 

Steve rubs the soft skin of Bucky’s wrist. He can feel the bones and sinews under the thin skin. 

“I guess I owe you?” 

“No shit.” 

Steve smiles to himself. He traces the lines on Bucky’s palm, studying each fingertip. 

“How about dinner or something?” 

“I’ll have to check my schedule.” Bucky says but he’s smiling as widely as he can. 

“Well, technically, we’re both unemployed now so…” 

“Oh, fuck,” Bucky’s eyes get a little bit wider, but there’s light in them and happiness. He laughs a little. “You’re right.” 

“So, how about it?” 

“It? What it?” 

“Dinner or something?” 

“Is this how you ask out everyone, Steve? No wonder you’ve got no dates back in the day.” 

“I was a ninety-pound asthmatic.” 

“Ask me nicely.” 

Steve presses a kiss over Bucky’s grazed knuckle. 

“James Buchanan Barnes, will you do me the honor of your pleasant company, to a fine dining establishments please?” 

Bucky starts to laugh genuinely, which starts a coughing fit. Steve can only offer him tissues and some water, waiting for Bucky’s body to calm down. When he settles down, Bucky is still smiling, humming in contentment, peering down at Steve. 

“I would love to, Steven Grant Rogers.” 

Steve smiles back. 

“You’re very cute when you blush like that, Steve.” 

It gets Steve more heated. 

“I think I like you a lot, Steve.” 

“Me, too, Bucky. I’m so glad that I’m here, in this time, and got to meet you.” 

    

You have thawed my frozen heart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reals, Clint was supposed to be in CA:TWS but it got cut. :/  
> Maybe Bucky met Sam on his run. :D
> 
> And if it feels like this ended abruptly is because there's a whole "second part" to this that I've decided to discard from SBB2017, for time-constraint reasons, mostly. And this was the only plausible point which felt "complete on its own".  
>  ~~I will edit notes and add links later on in the day!~~


End file.
